2-NRLF 


SB    252    552 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


SPENSER'S  POEM, 

1 

ENTITLED 

COLIN  CLOUTS  COME  HOME  AGAINE, 

EXPLAINED; 


WITH   REMARKS    UPON 


THE   AMORETTI    SONNETS, 


AND  ALSO  UPON 

A  FEW  OF  THE  MINOR  POEMS  OF  OTHER  EARL? 
ENGLISH  POETS. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF 

"REMAEKS  ON  THE  SONNETS  OF  SHAKESPEARE,"  TO  WHICH 
THIS  VOLUME  IS  DESIGNED  AS  A  COMPANION. 


NEW    YORK: 
PUBLISHED    BY    JAMES    MILLER, 

(SUCCESSOR  TO  c.  s.  FRANCIS  &  co.) 
622    BROADWAY. 

MDCCCLXV. 


ENTERED,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1865,  by 

JAMES  MILLER, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


JOHN  P.  TROW  &  CO., 

PRINTERS',,  STEREOTYPERS,  AND  ELECTROTYPERS, 
50  Greene  Street,  New  York. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

Remarks  upon  the  Amoretti  (or  Sonnets)  of  Spenser  will  be  found  in  the 
2d  and  3d  chapters  of  this  volume ;  and  the  Sonnets  themselves,  for  the  con- 
venience of  the  student,  have  been  added  to  the  volume. 

The  reader  of  the  author's  Remarks  on  the  Shakespeare  Sonnets,  will  find 
here  some  striking  confirmations  of  the  views  there  presented ;  but  may  dis- 
cover many  more  by  studying  the  early  English  poets  in  view  of  several 
pregnant  hints  in  the  Notes  of  Robert  Bell,  in  his  valuable  edition  of  Chau- 
cer's poetical  works  (London,  1862),  particularly  the  note,  vol.  4,  page  201 
on  the  following  lines  in  the  poem  entitled  the  Assembly  of  Foules  [or  Birds] 
—where  the  curious  reader  may  see  the  very  Queen,  the  mystical  Lady  of  so 
many  poets. 

"When  I  was  comen  ayen  [again]  into  the  place  [?] 

That  I  of  spake,  that  was  so  soote  [sweet]  and  greene, 

Forth  walked  I  tho  [then]  my  selven  to  solace : 

Tho  [then]  was  I  ware  [aware],  where  there  sate  a  QUEENE,  [N.  B.] 

That,  as  of  light  the  sommer  Sunne  shene 

Passeth  the  sterre,  [stars],  right  so  over  mesure,  [or,  beyond  measure)] 

She  fairer  was  than  any  creature. 

And  in  a  launde,  [lawn],  upon  a  hill  of  flowers, 
"Was  sette  THIS  NOBLE  GODDESSE  NATURE. 

NOTE,  BY  MR.  BELL. 

The  reader  will  remark  the  close  resemblance  between  the  structure  of 
this  poem  [the  Assembly  of  Foules — or  Birds — ]  and  that  of  the  Court  of  Love, 
already  pointed  out  in  the  introduction  to  the  latter  poem.  In  these  and  in 
many  detached  passages  of  Chaucer's  other  poems,  may  be  detected  A  TEN- 
DENCY TO  PANTHEISM,  or  the  worshipping  a  principle  supposed  to  pervade  the 
Universe,  rather  than  a  personal  Deity. 

Some  of  the  poets  see  this  principle  as  Lady  Nature,  their  mistress. 


195 


CHAPTER  I. 

HUME  tells  us,  in  the  brief  critical  notices  of  lite- 
rary works  at  successive  periods  embraced  in  his 
history,  that  Spenser's  FAERIE  QUEENE  was  a  work 
which  every  scholar,  or  man  of  pretension  to  literary 
taste,  felt  bound  to  have  upon  his  table ;  but  he 
adds,  that  no  one  felt  bound  to  read  it.  Whether 
this  criticism,  or  what,  has  worked  the  change  we 
cannot  say,  but  it  is  quite  certain  that  the  once  fam- 
ous allegory  of  Una  and  the  Lamb  is  no  longer,  or 
but  rarely,  seen  upon  the  scholar's  desk,  and  is  only 
seen  upon  the  parlor  centre-table  when  richly  bound 
in  gilt  and  illustrated  with  pictures  for  the  eye,  while 
the  book  itself  is  as  little  read  now  as  it  was  in  the 
days  of  David  Hume. 

That  the  cold  and  self-complacent  philosophical 
historian  should  care  but  little  a£>out  the  "  idle 
fancies,"  as  he  no  doubt  reputed  them,  of  such  a 
man  as  Spenser,  may  not  be  surprising  to  those  of 


6  COLIN   CLOUTS  [CHAP.  i. 

his  own  temper  ;  but  there  are  others  who  will  be  apt 
to  say,  after  all,  that  his  criticism  may  be  considered 
as  indicating  only  his  own  taste,  or  the  want  of  it, 
and  that  of  what  may  be  called  the  visible  public  of 
his  day ;  while  we  may  be  sure  there  must  have 
been  then,  as  there  are  now,  a  few  to  delight  in  fol- 
lowing the  spirit  of  the  poet,  and  with  more  or  less 
fidelity  seek  to  discover  something  in  nature  of  an 
invisible  character  "  correspondent "  to  it ;  the  search 
for  which  will  continue  to  task  and  to  reward  the 
student  in  all  ages  ;  for,  without  adopting  the  theories 
or  expositions  of  Swedenborg,  it  can  hardly  be  denied, 
except  by  the  most  downright  fatalist,  that  there  is 
what  may  be  properly  called  a  spiritual  world,  where 
the  genuine  poet  will  be  found  at  home  in  his  own  Ar- 
cadia. Philosophy  is  not  without  a  clue  to  the  true 
ground  of  the  poet's  dreams  and  visions  ;  and  it  lies 
chiefly  in  the  dogma,  that  there  can  be  no  modal 
manifestation  in  nature,  which  is  not  based  upon  the 
substantial — without,  or  out  of  which,  there  is  nothing 
at  all:  in  which  NOTHING,  we  will  add,  a  certain 
class  of  seekers  tell  us  they  find  all  things. 

But  we  do  npt  propose  to  discuss  these  matters, 
and  will  enter  without  farther  preface  upon  the  pur- 
pose we  have  in  view. 


CHAP.  L]  INTERPRETED.  7 

Among  the  minor  poems  of  Spenser,  the  reader 
may  have  noticed,  or  may  easily  turn  to,  one 
entitled  Colin  Clouts  Come  Home  Again,  pub- 
lished in  1591  or  1595.  It  was  addressed  or  dedi- 
cated to  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  by  the  poet  himself, 
who  calls  it  a  "  simple  Pastoral ;"  and  whilst,  in  the 
usual  strain  of  dedications,  the  poet  speaks  of  the 
poem  as  "  unworthy  "  the  higher  "  conceipt  "  of  his 
noble  friend,  for  its  "  meanness  of  style,"  he  asserts 
its  agreement  "  with  truth,  in  circumstance  and  mat- 
ter :"  more  than  hinting,  in  the  same  dedication,  at 
what  the  poet  calls  the  "malice  of  evil  mouths, 
which  are  always  [says  he]  open  to  carpe  at  and 
misconstrue  [his]  simple  meaning." 

A  modern  editor  quotes  from  the  Retrospective 
Review,  to  show  that  the  object  of  the  poet  (in  Colin 
Clouts)  was  to  give  "  an  account  of  his  return  to 
England,  and  of  his  presentation  to  Queen  Elizabeth, 
and  of  several  persons  attached  to  the  Court ;"  and 
the  Reviewer  remarks,  that  the  poem  might  have 
been  highly  interesting  at  the  time  it  was  written, 
but  that  its  chief  interest  is  now  lost,  declaring  that 
"  it  possesses  nothing  striking,  either  in  character  or 
description,  to  attract  a  modern  reader" — but  he 
should  have  added,  a  modern  reader  of  the  Hume 


8  COLIN   CLOUTS  [CHAP.  i. 

school,  who  would  doubtless  see  as  little  to  attract 
in  this  pastoral  as  in  the  more  elaborate  poem  of  the 
Faerie  Queene. 

We  will  now  show,  by  a  few  notes,  the  general 
purpose  of  this  pastoral,  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
poems  in  the  English  language,  and  leave  the  reader 
to  reflect  upon  the  probable  result  of  a  study  of  the 
Faerie  Queene  itself,  an  acknowledged  allegory,  if 
pursued  from  some  similar  point  of  view  ;  and  as  we 
feel  under  no  obligations  of  secresy,  we  will  say  at 
once,  that : 

The  Pastoral,  entitled  Colin  Clouts  Come  Home 
Again,  was  not  designed  to  refer,  in  the  remotest 
degree,  to  Queen  Elizabeth ;  but  the  poem  agrees 
"  with  truth  in  circumstance  and  matter "  (as  the 
dedication  reads),  with  a  mental  journey  by  the  poet 
himself,  in  the  very  spirit  of  Christianity,  into  what 
may  be  called  the  spiritual  world — the  Arcadia  of 
the  ancient  poets,;  where  the  poet  meets  with  the 
mystic  Queen  of  Arcadia,  the  object  of  so  much  pas- 
sionate devotion  by  a  long  succession  of  spirituelle 
poets,  who,  under  the  guise  of  addressing  some  Delia, 
or  Celia,  or  Lilia,  Phoebe,  Daphne,  or  Chloe,  have 
cloaked  a  love  which,  because  not  generally  recog- 
nised, except  as  addressed  to  some  veritable  woman, 


CHAP,  i.]  INTERPRETED.  9 

has  been  usually  regarded  as  having  no  other  subject 
than  woman ;  who,  indeed,  may  become  the  true  ob- 
ject of  love,  as  represented  in  the  drama  of  King 
Rene's  daughter,  when  her  beauty  and  perfection 
are  seen  in  the  light  of  what  must  be  called,  for  the 
sake  of  truth,  Divine  Love. 

Let  the  reader  admit  for  a  moment  that  there  is  a 
land,  an  unseen  land,  which,  in  order  to  have  a  name 
for  it,  we  will  call  Arcadia ;  but,  though  called  a 
land,  this  word  is  only  used  figuratively.  It  repre- 
sents not  merely  an  imaginary  land,  but  the  land  of 
imagination,  a  word  of  immense  significance ;  for 
from  that  land  the  world  receives  its  Iliads,  Odysseys, 
and  ^neids,  a  great  multitude  of  Promethean 
stories,  and  innumerable  tales  of  chivalry  in  both 
prose  and  verse. 

Let  it  be  supposed,  we  say,  as  a  mere  hypothesis, 
that  there  is  an  Arcadian  land,  a  world  in  which 
poets  find  a  congenial  home,  where  they  conceive  the 
great  works  of  Art  through  which  their  names 
become  immortal.  This  is  making  but  a  very  small 
demand  upon  the  candor  of  the  student,  who  must 
reasonably  agree  that  the  ancient  and  ever-renewed 
claim  of  the  poets,  that  their  art  proceeds  from  a 
1* 


10  COLIN   CLOUTS  [CHAP,  t 

divine  gift,  the  nature  of  which  can  perhaps  only  be 
properly  known  by  poets  themselves,  must  have 
some  truth  to  rest  upon.  Genuine  poets — we  do 
not  refer  to  mere  versifiers,  who  have  often  only  an 
acquired  skill  in  word-jingling — are  a  peculiar  class 
of  men,  not  as  having  an  actual  faculty  unknown  to 
other  men,  but  because  of  a  peculiar  awakening  of 
their  faculties  which,  under  favorable  circumstances, 
opens  to  them  such  views  of  life  as,  for  want  of  a 
better  explanation,  may  be  considered  a  divine  gift — 
very  much  as  the  religious  faculty,  though  common 
to  all  mankind,  receives  at  times  an  extraordinary 
illumination,  as  if  from  a  supernatural  source ;  and 
it  may  indeed  be  regarded  as  supernatural,  if  we 
define  nature  from  a  low  point  of  view,  as  the  mere 
material  fabric  of  the  world. 

We  desire  to  induce  the  reader  to  accept  the 
suggestion  as  probable,  that  poets  of  the  class 
referred  to  have  access,  either  through  nature  or 
grace,  to  a  certain  interior  world  of  ideas  and 
feelings,  which  for  the  present  we  will  call  Arcadia ; 
not  a  visible  place,  yet  often  figured  as  a  land, 
with  mountains  and  streams,  where  the  sun,  or  we 
may  say  the  moon,  if  we  please,  never  sets,  and 
where  there  is  a  never-ending  summer — as  we  find 


OHAP.  i.]  INTERPRETED.  11 

it  referred  to  in  the  18th  Sonnet  of  Shakespeare  in 
the  line : 

"Thy  eternal  summer  shall  not  fade;" 
or  again  in  the  97th  Sonnet : 

"For  summer  and  his  pleasures  wait  on  thee." 

This  land,  or  Arcadia,  is  well  described  in  the 
little  poem  of  Heriot  de  Borderie,  inserted  in  the 
preface  to  Remarks  on  Alchemy  and  the  Alchemists. 

"There  is  an  isle 

Full,  as  they  say,  of  good  things ; — fruits  and  trees 
And  pleasant  verdure;  a  very  master-piece 
Of  nature's ;  where  the  men  immortally 
Live,  following  all  delights  and  pleasures.    There 
Is  not,  nor  ever  hath  been,  Winter's  cold 
Or  Summer's  heat,  the  season  still  the  same, — 
One  gracious  Spring,  where  all,  e'en  those  worst  used 
By  fortune,  are  content.     Earth  willingly 
Pours  out  her  blessing:  the  words  "thine"  and  "mine" 
Are  not  known  'mongst  them:  all  is  common,  free 
From  pain  and  jealous  grudging.     Reason  rules, 
Not  fantasy:  every  one  knows  well 
What  he  would  ask  of  other;  every  one 
What  to  command:  thus  every  one  hath  that 
Which  he  doth  ask;  what  is  commanded,  does. 
This  island  hath  the  name  of  Fortunate; 


12  COLIN   CLOUTS 

And,  as  they  tell,  is  governed  by  a  Queen 

Well-spoken  and  discreet,  and  therewithal 

So  beautiful,  that,  with  one  single  beam 

Of  her  great  beauty,  all  the  country  round 

Is  rendered  shining.     When  she  sees  arrive 

(As  there  are  many  so  exceeding  curious 

They  have  no  fear  of  danger  'fore  their  eyes) 

Those  who  come  suing  to  her,  and  aspire 

After  the  happiness  which  she  to  each 

Doth  promise  in  her  city,  she  doth  make 

The  strangers  come  together;  and  forthwith, 

Ere  she  consenteth  to  retain  them  there, 

Sends  for  a  certain  season  all  to  sleep. 

When  they  have  slept  so  much  as  there  is  need, 

Then  wake  they  them  again,  and  summon  them 

Into  her  presence.     There  awaits  them  not 

Excuse  or  caution;  speech  however  bland, 

Or  importunity  of  cries.     Each  bears 

That  on  his  forehead  written  visibly, 

Whereof  he  hath  been  dreaming.     They  whose  dreams 

Have  been  of  birds  and  hounds,  are  straight  dismissed ; 

And  at  her  royal  mandate  led  away, 

To  dwell  thence-forward  with  such  beasts  as  these. 

He  who  hath  dreamed  of  sconces  broken,  war, 

And  turmoil,  and  sedition,   glory  won, 

And  highest  feats  achieved,  is,  in  like  guise, 

An  exile  from  her  court;  whilst  one  whose  brow 

Is  pale,  and  dead,  and  withered,  showing  care 


CHAP.  i.j  INTERPRETED.  13 

Of  pelf  and  riches,  she  no  less  denies 

To  be  his  queen  and  mistress.     None,  hi  brief, 

Keserves  she  of  the  dreamers  in  her  isle, 

Save  him,  that,  when  awakened  he  returns, 

Betrayeth  tokens  that  of  her  rare  beauty 

His  dreams  have  been.     So  great  delight  hath  she 

In  being  and  in  seeming  beautiful, 

Such  dreamer  is  right  welcome  to  her  isle. 

All  this  is  held  a  fable :  but  who  first 
Made  and  recited  it  hath,  hi  this  fable, 
Shadowed  a  Truth. 

This  isle  we  take  to  be  the  Arcadian  land.  It  is 
owned  or  visited  in  common  by  all  genuine  poets, 
who,  because  they  know  that  admission  to  that 
beautiful  country  is  accorded  only  to  a  favored 
class,  and  to  those  only  upon  their  being  in  posses- 
sion of  certain  required  credentials,  rarely  give  any 
hint  even  of  the  true  character  of  the  country  to 
the  non-elect.  They  only  write  of  it  in  ^  mystery, 
or  under  the  guise  of  writing  about  something  else, 
which,  as  in  the  poem  of  Colin  Clouts,  may  be 
understood,  or  misunderstood,  as  a  poem  in  honor 
of  Queen  Elizabeth ;  who  has>  however,  as  little  to 
do  with  that  poem  as  she  has  with  the  Apocalypse 
and  its  New  Jerusalem.  We  propose  to  show  that 


14  COLIN   CLOUTS.  [CHAP.  i. 

Colin  Clouts  Come  Home  Again,  is  a  poetic  hint, 
not  only  of  the  reality  of  the  Arcadian  land,  but 
that  it  lets  the  reader  into  some  acquaintance  with 
the  method  of  access  to  it,  and  particularly  gives 
us  a  glimpse  of  the  Queen  herself  under  the  name 
of  Cynthia — which  may  be  applicable  to  the  Queen 
of  the  isle  in  Borderie's  poem  just  recited. 

We  here  give  the  poem  itself,  according  to  its  name,  with  all 
its  notes,  as  we  find  it  in  the  5th  volume  of  Spenser's  Works, 
published  in  Boston  by  Little  &  Brown,  1860.  The  dissent  of 
the  author  of  the  Remarks  from  the  opinion  expressed  in  some 
of  the  notes,  will  appear  in  the  progress  of  the  Remarks. 


COLIN  CLOUTS 
COME  HOME  AGAIKE. 

BY  ED.  SP. 
1595. 


TO   THE   EIGHT    WOBTHY   AND   NOBLE   KNIGHT 

SIR  WALTER  RALEIGH, 

OAPTAINE    OF    HEE   MAIESTIES   GUAED,    LOED   WAEDEIN   OF 

THE   STANNEBIES,  AND   LIEUTENANT   OF 

THE  OOUNTIE  OF  COENWALL. 

SlB, 

THAT  you  may  see  that  I  am  not  alwaies  ydle  as  yee 
thinke,  though  not  greatly  well  occupied,  nor  altogither  un- 
dutifull,  though  not  precisely  officious,  I  make  you  present 
of  this  simple  Pastorallr  unworthie  of  your  higher  conceipt 
for  the  meanesse  of  the  stile,  hut  agreeing  with  the  truth  in 
circumstance  and  matter.  The  which  I  humbly  beseech  you 
to  accept  in  part  of  paiement  of  the  infinite  debt,  in  which 
I  acknowledge  my  selfe  bounden  unto  you  for  your  singular 
favours,  and  sundrie  good  turnes,  shewed  to  me  at  my  late 
being  in  England ;  and  with  your  good  countenance  protect 
against  the  malice  of  evill  mouthes,  which  are  alwaies  wide 
open  to  carpe  at  and  misconstrue  my  vsimple  meaning.  I 
pray  continually  for  your  happinesse.  From  my  house  of 
Kilcolman,  the  27.  of  December. 
1591.  [rather  perhaps  1595.] 

Yours  ever  humbly, 

ED.  SP. 


COLIN    CLOUTS 
COME  HOME  AGAHSTE.* 


shepheards  boy  (best  knowen  by  that  name) 
That  after  Tityrus  first  sung  his  lay, 
Laies  of  sweet  love,  without  rebuke  or  blame, 
Sate  (as  his  custome  was)  upon  a  day, 
Charming1  his  oaten  pipe  unto  his  peres,  5 

The  shepheard  swaines  that  did  about  him  play: 
Who  all  the  while,  with  greedie  listfull  eares, 
Did  stand  astonisht  at  his  curious  skill, 
Like  hartlesse  deare,  dismayd  with  thunders  sound. 

1  Charming,  tuning. 
Ver.  2.— Tityrus.]    Chaucer. 

*  "  In  the  year  1595,  Spenser  published  Colin  Clouts  come  Home  againe, 
a  sort  of  pastoral,  giving  an  account  of  his  return  to  England,  of  his 
presentation  to  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  of  several  persons  attached  to  the 
court.  It  might  be  highly  interesting  at  the  time  it  was  written,  but 
its  chief  interest  is  now  lost.  It  possesses  nothing  striking,  either  in 
character  or  description,  to  attract  a  modern  reader." — Retrospective  Review. 

[The  author  of  the  Remarks  dissents  from  this  opinion,  and  from  several 
others  expressed  in  the  notes  to  this  poem.] 


18  COLIN   CLOUTS 

At  last,  when  as  he  piped  had  his  fill,  10 

He  rested  him:  and,  sitting  then  around, 

One  of  those  groomes  (a  iolly  groome  was  he, 

As  ever  piped  on  an  oaten  reed, 

And  lov'd  this  shepheard  dearest  in  degree, 

Hight1  Hobbinol;)  gan  thus  to  him  areed.  15 

"  Colin,  my  liefe,2  my  life,  how  great  a  losse 
Had  all  the  shepheards  nation  by  thy  lacke! 
And  I,  poore  swaine,  of  many,  greatest  crosse! 
That,  sith3  thy  Muse  first  since  thy  turning  backe 
"Was  heard  to  sound  as  she  was  wont  on  hye,          20 
Has  made  us  all  so  blessed  and  so  blythe. 
Whilest  thou  wast  hence,  all  dead  in  dole 4  did  lie : 
The  woods  were  heard  to  waile  full  many  a  sythe,5 
And  all  their  birds  with  silence  to  complaine : 
The  fields  with  faded  flowers  did  seem  to  mourne,     25 
And  all  their  flocks  from  feeding  to  refrain: 
The  running  waters  wept  for  thy  returne, 
And  all  their  fish  with  languor  did  lament: 
But  now  both  woods  and  fields  and  floods  revive, 
Sith3  thou  art  come,  their  cause  of  merriment,        30 
That  us,  late  dead,  hast  made   againe  alive: 
But  were  it  not  too  painefull  to  repeat 
The  passed  fortunes,  which   tp  thee  befell 

1  Hight,  called.  3  Sith,  since.  5  Sythe,  time. 

a  Liefe,  dear.  *  Dole,  grief. 

Ver.  15.— Hdbbinol.}    This  is  Spenser's  friend,  Gabriel  Harvey. 


COME   HOME   AGAINE.  19 

In  thy  late  voyage,   we  thee  would  entreat, 

Now  at  thy  leisure  them  to  us  to  tell."  35 

To  whom  the  shepheard  gently   answered  thus; 
"  Hobbin,   thou  temptest  me  to  that  I  covet: 
For  of  good  passed  newly  to  discus, 
By  dubble  usurie  doth  twise  renew  it. 
And  since  I  saw  that  angels  blessed  eie,  40 

Her  worlds  bright  sun,  her  heavens  fairest  light, 
My  mind,   full  of  my  thoughts  satietie, 
Doth  feed  on  sweet  contentment  of  that  sight: 
Since  that  same  day  in  nought  I  take  delight, 
Ne  feeling  have  in  any  earthly  pleasure,  46 

But  in  remembrance  of  that  glory  bright, 
My  lifes  sole  blisse,  my  hearts  eternall  threasure. 
"Wake  then,  my  pipe;   my  sleepie  Muse,   awake; 
Till  I  have  told  her  praises  lasting  long: 
Hobbin  desires,  thou  maist  it  not  forsake; —  50 

Harke  then,   ye  iolly  shepheards,   to  my  song." 

With  that  they  all  gan  throng  about  him  neare, 
With  hungrie  eares  to  heare  his  harmonie: 
The  whiles  their  flocks,  devoyd  of  dangers  feare, 
Did  round  about  them  feed  at  libertie.  55 

"  One  day  (quoth  he)  I  sat  (as  was  my  trade) 
Under  the  foote  of  Mole,  that  mountaine  hore, 
Keeping  my  sheepe  amongst  the  cooly  shade 


20  COLIN   CLOUTS 

Of  the  greene  alders  "by  the  Mullaes  shore : 

There  a  straunge  shepheard  chaunst  to  find  me  out,  60 

"Whether  allured  with  my  pipes  delight, 

"Whose  pleasing  sound  yshrilled1  far  about, 

Or  thither  led  by  chaunce,  I  know  not  right: 

"Whom  when  I  asked  from  what  place  he  came, 

And  how  he  hight,2  himselfe  he  did  ycleepe8  65 

The  Shepheard  of  the  Ocean  by  name, 

And  said  he  came  far  from  the  main-sea  deepe. 

He,  sitting  me  beside  in  that  same  shade, 

Provoked  me  to  plaie  some  pleasant  fit4; 

And,  when  he  heard  the  musicke  which  I  made,       70 

He  found  himselfe  full  greatly  pleasd  at  it: 

Yet,  semuling5  my  pipe,  he  tooke  in  hond 

My  pipe,  before  that  aemuled  of  many, 

And  plaid  thereon;  (for  well  that  skill  he  cond6;) 

Himselfe  as  skilfull  in  that  art  as  any.  75 

He  pip'd,  I  sung ;  and,  when  he  sung,  I  piped  ; 

1  Yshrilled,  sounded  shrill.  9  Hight,  was  called. 

3  Ycleepe,  call. 

*  Fit,  strain.  6  ^muling,  rivalling. 

6  Cond,  knew. 

Ver.  59.—  By  the  Mullaes  shore.}  "  The  Mulla  is  the  river  Awbeg, 
which  runs  not  far  from  Kilcolman,  Spenser's  residence,  and  washes 
Buttevant,  Doneraile,  Castletown-Roch,  &c."— TODD. 

Ver.  66.— The  Shepheard  of  the  Ocean.]  This  is  Sir  "Walter  Raleigh, 
whom  Spenser  accompanied  into  England,  and  by  whom  he  was  introduced 
to  Queen  Elizabeth. 


COME   HOME  AGAINE.  21 

By  chaunge  of  turnes,  each  making  other  mery; 

Neither  envying  other,  nor  envied, 

So  piped  we,  untill  we  both  were  weary." 

There  interrupting  him,  a  bonie  swaine,  80 

That  Cuddy  hight,1  him  thus  atweene  bespake: 
"  And,  should  it  not  thy  readie  course  restraine, 
I  would  request  thee,  Colin,  for  my  sake, 
To  tell  what  thou  didst  sing,  when  he  did  plaie; 
For  well  I  weene  it  worth  recounting  was,  85 

Whether  it  were  some  hymne,  or  morall  laie, 
Or  carol  made  to  praise  thy  loved  lasse." 

"  Nor  of  my  love,  nor  of  my  lasse,  (quoth  he,) 
I  then  did  sing,  as  then  occasion  fell: 
For  love  had  me  forlorne,  forlorne  of  me,  90 

That  made  me  in  that  desart  choose  to  dwell. 
But  of  my  river  Bregogs  love  I  soong, 
Which  to  the  shiny  Mulla  he  did  beare, 
And  yet  doth  beare,  and  ever  will,  so  long 
As  water  doth  within  his  bancks  appeare."  95 

"  Of  fellowship  (said  then  that  bony  Boy) 
Record  to  us  that  lovely  lay  againe: 
The  staie  whereof  shall  nought  these  eares  annoy 
Who  all  that  Colin  makes  do  covet  faine." 

"Heare  then  (quoth  he)  the  tenor  of  my  tale,     100 
In  sort  as  I  it  to  that  shepheard  told: 

1  HigM,  was  called. 


22  COLIN   CLOUTS 

No  leasing1  new,  nor  grandams  fable  stale, 
But  auncient  truth  confirmed  with  credence  old. 

"  Old  father  Mole,  (Mole  hight  that  mountain  gray 
That  walls  the  northside  of  Armulla  dale;)  105 

He  had  a  daughter  fresh  as  floure  of  May, 
Which  gave  that  name  unto  that  pleasant  vale; 
Mulla,  the  daughter  of  old  Mole,  so  hight2 
The  Nimph,  which  of  that  water  course  has  charge, 
That,  springing  out  of  Mole,  doth  run  downe  right  110 
To  Buttevant,  where,  spreading  forth  at  large, 
It  giveth  name  unto  that  auncient  Cittie, 
Which  Kilnemullah  cleped 3  is  of  old ; 
Whose  ragged  ruines  breed  great  ruth  and  pittie 
To  travailers,  which  it  from  far  behold.  115 

Full  faine  she  lov'd,  and  was  belov'd  full  faine 
Of  her  owne  brother  river,  Bregog  hight,2 
So  hight2  because  of  this  deceitfull  traine, 
Which  he  with  Mulla  wrought  to  win  delight. 
But  her  old  sire  more  carefull  of  her  good,  120 

And  meaning  her  much  better  to  preferre, 
Did  thinke  to  match  her  with  the  neighbour  flood, 
Which  Allo  hight,2  Broad- water  called  farre; 
And  wrought  so  well  with  his  continuall  paine, 

1  Leasing,  falsehood.  9  Hight,  called.  »  Cleped,  named. 

Ver.  117. — Bregog  hight.]    Bregog,   according  to  Todd,  means  false  or 


COME   HOME   AGAINE.  23 

That  he  that  river  for  his  daughter  wonrie :  125 

The  dowre  agreed,  the  day  assigned  plaine, 

The  place  appointed  where  it  should  be  doone. 

Nath'lesse  the  Nymph  her  former  liking  held; 

For  love  will  not  be  drawne,  but  must  be  ledde ; 

And  Bregog  did  so  well  her  fancie  weld,1  130 

That  her  good  will  he  got  her  first  to  wedde. 

But  for  her  father,  sitting  still  on  hie, 

Did  warily  still  watch  which  way  she  went, 

And  eke  from  far  observed,  with  iealous  eie, 

"Which  way  his  course  the  wanton  Bregog  bent;      135 

Him  to  deceive,  for  all  his  watchfull  ward, 

The  wily  lover  did  devise  this  slight: 

First  into  many  parts  his  streame  he  shar'd, 

That,  whilest  the  one  was  watcht,  the  other  might 

Passe  unespide  to  meete  her  by  the  way;  140 

And  then,  besides,  those  little  streames  so  broken 

He  under  ground  so  closely2  did  convay, 

That  of  their  passage  doth  appeare  no  token, 

Till  they  into  the  Mullaes  water  slide. 

So  secretly  did  he  his  love  enioy:  145 

Yet  not  so  secret,  but  it  was  descride, 

And  told  her  father  by  a  shepheards  boy. 

"Who,  wondrous  wroth  for  that  so  foule  despight, 

In  great  avenge  did  roll  downe  from  his  hill 

Huge  mightie  stones,  the  which  encomber  might        150 

1  Weld,  wield,  sway.  »  Closely,  secretly. 


24  COLIN   CLOUTS 

His  passage,  and  his  water-courses  spill.1 

So  of  a  River,  which  he  was  of  old, 

He  none  was  made,  but  scattred  all  to  nought; 

And,  lost  emong  those  rocks  into  him  rold, 

Bid  lose  his  name:  so  deare  his  love  he  bought."     155 

"Which  having  said,  him  Thestylis  bespake ; 
"Now  by  my  life  this  was  a  mery  lay, 
"Worthie  of  Colin  selfe,  that  did  it  make. 
But  read  now  eke,  of  friendship  I  thee  pray, 
What  dittie  did  that  other  shepheard  sing:  160 

For  I  do  covet  most  the  same  to  heare, 
As  men  use  most  to  covet  forreine  thing." 

"That  shall  I  eke  (quoth  he)  to  you  declare: 
His  song  was  all  a  lamentable  lay 
Of  great  unkindnesse,  and  of  usage  hard,  165 

Of  Cynthia  the  Ladie  of  the  Sea, 
"Which  from  her  presence  faultlesse  him  debard. 
And  ever  and  anon,  with  singulfs  rife,2 
He  cryed  out,  to  make  his  undersong; 
Ah !  my  loves  queene,  and  goddesse  of  my  life,         170 
"Who  shall  me  pittie,  when  thou  doest  me  wrong  ? " 

Then  gan  a  gentle  bonylasse  to  speake, 
That  Marin  hight;  "Eight  well  he  sure  did  plaine, 

1  Spill,  spoil.  *  Singulfs  rife,  frequent  sobs. 

Ver.  166.— Of  Cynthia  the  Ladie  of  the  Sea.]  Queen  Elizabeth  ;  prob- 
ably an  allusion  to  Sir  "W.  Raleigh's  temporary  disgrace  and  banishment 
from  court,  on  account  of  his  intrigue  with  Elizabeth  Throgmorton. 


COME   HOME    AGAINE.  25 

That  could  great  Cynthiaes  sore  displeasure  breake, 
And  move  to  take  him  to  her  grace  againe.  175 

But  tell  on  further,  Colin,  as  befell 
Twixt  him  and  thee,  that  thee  did  hence  dissuade." 
"  When  thus  our  pipes  we  both  had  wearied  well, 
(Quoth  he,)  and  each  an  end  of  singing  made, 
He  gan  to  cast  great  lyking  to  my  lore,  180 

And  great  dislyking  to  my  lucklesse  lot, 
That  banisht  had  my  selfe,  like  wight  forlore,1 
Into  that  waste,  where  I  was  quite  forgot. 
The  which  to  leave,  thenceforth  he  counseld  mee, 
Unmeet  for  man,  in  whom  was  ought  regardfull,      185 
And  wend 2  with  him,  his  Cynthia  to  see ; 
Whose  grace  was  great,  and  bounty  most  rewardfull. 
Besides  her  peerlesse  skill  in  making3  well, 
And  all  the  ornaments  of  wondrous  wit, 
Such  as  all  womankynd  did  far  excell ;  190 

Such  as  the  world  admyr'd,  and  praised  it: 
So  what  with  hope  of  good,  and  hate  of  ill, 
He  me  perswaded  forth  with  him  to  fare. 
Nought  tooke  I  with  me,  but  mine  oaten  quill: 
Small  needments  else  need  shepheard  to  prepare.      195 
So  to  the  sea  we  came ;  the  sea,  that  is 
A  world  of  waters  heaped  up  on  hie, 
Rolling  like  mountaines  in  wide  wildernesse, 
Horrible,  hideous,  roaring  with  hoarse  crie." 

1  Forlore,  forlorn.  *  Wend,  go.  8  Making,  versifying. 

2 


26  COLIN   CLOUTS 

"  And  is  the  sea  (quoth  Coridon)  so  fearfull  ?  "         200 
u  Fearful  much  more  (quoth  he)  then  hart  can  tear  : 
Thousand  wyld  beasts  with  deep  mouthes  gaping  direfull 
Therin  stil  wait  poore  passengers  to  teare. 
Who  life  doth  loath,  and  longs  death  to  behold, 
Before  he  die,  alreadie  dead  with  feare,  205 

And  yet  would  live  with  heart  halfe  stonie  cold, 
Let  him  to  sea,  and  he  shall  see  it  there. 
And  yet  as  ghastly  dreadfull,  as  it  seemes, 
Bold  men,  presuming  life  for  gaine  to  sell, 
Dare  tempt  that  gulf,  and  in  those  wandring  stremes  210 
Seek  waies  unknowne,  waies  leading  down  to  hell. 
For,  as  we  stood  there  waiting  on  the  strond, 
Behold,  an  huge  great  vessell  to  us  came, 
Daunting  upon  the  waters  back  to  lond, 
As  if  it  scornd  the  daunger  of  the  same ;  215 

Yet  was  it  but  a  wooden  frame  and  fraile, 
Glewed  togither  with  some  subtile  matter. 
Yet  had  it  armes  and  wings,  and  head  and  taile, 
And  life  to  move  it  selfe  upon  the  water. 
Strange  thing !  how  bold  and  swift  the  monster  was,    220 
That  neither  car'd  for  wynd,  nor  haile,  nor  raine, 
Nor  swelling  waves,  but  thorough  them  did  passe 
So  proudly,  that  she  made  them  roare  againe. 
The  same  aboord  us  gently  did  receave, 
And  without  harme  us  farre  away  did  beare,  225 

So  farre  that  land,  our  mother,  us  did  leave, 


COME    HOME   AGAINE.  27 

And  nought  but  sea  and  heaven  to  us  appeare. 

Then  hartelesse  quite,  and  full  of  inward  feare, 

That  shepheard  I  besought  to  me  to  tell, 

Under  what  skie,  or  in  what  world  we  were,  230 

In  which  I  saw  no  living  people  dwell. 

Who,  me  recomforting  all  that  he  might, 

Told  me  that  that  same  was  the  Kegiment1 

Of  a  great  shepheardesse,  that  Cynthia  hight, 

His  liege,  his  Ladie,  and  his  lifes  Regent. —  235 

"  If  then  (quoth  I)  a  shepheardesse  she  bee, 

Where  be  the  flockes  and  heards,  which  she  doth  keep  ? 

And  where  may  I  the  hills  and  pastures  see, 

On  which  she  useth  for  to  feed  her  sheepe  ?  " 

"  These  be  the  hills,  (quoth  he,)  the  surges  hie,    240 
On  which  faire  Cynthia  her  heards  doth  feed : 
Her  heards  be  thousand  fishes  with  their  Me, 
Which  in  the  bosome  of  the  billowes  breed. 
Of  them  the  shepheard  which  hath  charge  in  chief, 
Is  Triton,  blowing  loud  his  wreathed  home  :  245 

At  sound  whereof,  they  all  for  their  relief 
Wend  too  and  fro  at  evening  and  at  morne. 
And  Proteus  eke  with  him  does  drive  his  heard 
Of  stinking  scales  and  porcpisces2  together, 
With  hoary  head  and  deawy  dropping  beard,  250 

Compelling  them  which  way  he  list,  and  whether. 
And  I,  among  the  rest,  of  many  least, 

1  Regiment,  kingdom.  a  Porcpisces,  porpoises. 


28  COLIN   CLOUTS 

Have  in  the  Ocean  charge  to  me  assignd ; 

"Where  I  will  live* or  die  at  her  beheast, 

And  serve  and  honour  her  with  faithfull  mind.         255 

Besides  an  hundred  Nymphs  all  heavenly  borne, 

And  of  immortall  race,  doo  still  attend 

To  wash  faire  Cynthiaes  sheep,  when  they  be  shorne, 

And  fold  them  up,  when  they  have  made  an   end. 

Those  be  the  shepheards  which  my  Cynthia  serve    260 

At  sea,  beside  a  thousand  moe  at  land: 

For  land  and  sea  my  Cynthia  doth  deserve 

To  have  in  her  command  ement  at  hand." 

Thereat  I  wondred  much,  till,  wondring  more 
And  more,  at  length,  we  land  far  off  descryde:        26* 
"Which  sight  much  gladed  me;  for  much  afore 
I  feard,  least  land  we  never  should  have  eyde  : 
Tkereto  our  ship  her  course  directly  bent, 
As  if  the  way  she  perfectly  had  knowne. 
"We  Lunday  passe;  by  that  same  name  is  ment         270 
An  island,  which  the  first  to  west  was  showne. 
From  thence  another  world  of  land  we  kend,1 
Floting  amid  the  sea  in  ieopardie, 
And  round  about  with  mightie  white  rocks  hemd, 
Against  the  seas  encroching  crueltie.  275 

Those  same,  the  shepheard  told  me,  were  the  fields 
In  which  dame  Cynthia  her  landheards  fed; 
Faire  goodly  fields,  then  which  Armulla  yields 

1  Kend,  discerned. 


COME   HOME   AGAINE.  29 

None  fairer,  nor  more  fruitfull  to  be  red.1 

The  first,  to  which  we  nigh  approched,  was  280 

An  high  headland  thrust  far  into  the  sea, 

Like  to  an  home,  whereof  the  name  it  has, 

Yet  seerad  to  be  a  goodly  pleasant  lea: 

There  did  a  loftie  mount  at  first  us  greet, 

"Which  did  a  stately  heape  of  stones  upreare,  285 

That  seemd  amid  the  surges  for  to  fleet,2 

Much  greater  then  that  frame,  which  us  did  beare : 

There  did  our  ship  her  fruitfull  wombe  unlade, 

And  put  us  all  ashore  on  Cynthias  land. 

"  What  land  is  that  thou  meanst,  (then  Cuddy  sayd.) 
And  is  there  other  then  whereon  we   stand?"         290 

"  Ah !  Cuddy,  (then  quoth  Colin,)  thous  a  fon,3 
That  hast  not  seene  least  part  of  natures  worke: 
Much  more  there  is  unkend4  then  thou  doest  kon,6 
And  much  more  that  does  from  mens  knowledge 

lurke.  295 

For  that  same  land  much  larger  is  then  this, 
And  other  men  and  beasts-  and  birds  doth  feed : 
There  fruitfull  corne,  faire  trees,  fresh  herbage  is, 
And  all  things  else  that  living  creatures  need. 
Besides  most  goodly  rivers  there  appeare,  300 

.No  whit  inferiour  to  thy  Fanchins  praise, 

1  Red,  perceived.  a  Fleet,  float.  *  Thous  a  fon,  thou  art  a  fool. 

*  Unkend,  unknown.  5  Kon,  know. 

Ver.  281.— An  high  headland.]    CornWalL 


30  COLIN   CLOUTS 

Or  unto  Allo,  or  to  Mulla  cleare : 

Nought  hast  thou,  foolish  boy,  seene  in  thy  daies." 

"But  if  that  land  be  there  (quoth  he)  as  here, 
And  is  theyr  heaven  likewise  there  all  one  ?  305 

And,  if  like  heaven,  be  heavenly  graces  there, 
Like  as  in  this  same  world  where  we  do  woae1?" 

"Both  heaven  and  heavenly  graces  do  much  more 
(Quoth  he)  abound  in  that  same  land  then  this. 
For  there  all  happie  peace  and  plenteous  store         310 
Conspire  in  one  to  make  contented  blisse : 
No  wayling  there  nor  wretchednesse  is  heard, 
No  bloodie  issues  nor  no  leprosies, 
No  griesly  famine,  nor  no  raging  sweard,2 
No  nightly  bodrags,3  nor  no  hue  and  cries;  315 

The  shepheards  there  abroad  may  safely  lie, 
On  hills  and  downes,  withouten  dread  or  daunger: 
No  ravenous  wolves  the  good  mans  hope  destroy, 
Nor  outlawes  fell  affray  the  forest  raunger. 
There  learned  arts  do  florish  in  great  honor,  320 

And  Poets  wits  are  had  in  peerlesse  price  : 
Religion  hath  lay  powre  to  rest  upon  her, 
Advancing  vertue  and  suppressing  vice. 
For  end,  all  good,  all  grace  there  freely  growes, 
Had  people  grace  it  gratefully  to  use:  325 

For  God  his  gifts  there  plenteously  bestowes, 
But  gracelesse  men  them  greatly  do  abuse." 

1  Wone,  dwell.        3  Sweard,  sword.        3  Bodrags,  border  ravaging. 


COME   HOME  AGAINE.  31 

"But  say  on  further  (then  said  Corylas) 
The  rest  of  thine  adventures,  that  betyded.1  " 

"  Foorth  on  our  voyage  we  by  land  did  passe,     330 
(Quoth  he,)  as  that  same  shepheard  still  us  guyded, 
Untill  that  we  to  Oynthiaes  presence  came&C 
Whose  glorie  greater  then  my  simple  thought,  ' 
I  found  much  greater  then  the  former  fame; 
Such  greatnes  I  cannot  compare  to  ought:  335 

But  if  I  her  like  ought  on  earth  might  read,2 
I  would  her  lyken  to  a  crowne  of  lillies 
Upon  a  virgin  brydes  adorned  head, 
With  roses  dight 3  and  goolds 4  and  daffadillies ; 
Or  like  the  circlet  of  a  turtle  true,  340 

In  which  all  colours  of  the  rainbow  bee ; 
Or  like  faire  Phebes  garlond  shining  new, 
In  which  all  pure  perfection  one  may  see. 
But  vaine  it  is  to  thinke,  by  paragone 5 
Of  earthly  things,  to  iudge  of  things  divine  :  345 

Her  power,  her  mercy,  and  her  wisdome,  none 
Can  deeme,  but  who  the  Godhead  can  define. 
Why  then  do  I,  base  shepheard,  bold  and  blind, 
Presume  the  things  so  sacred  to  prophane? 
More  fit  it  is  t'  adore,  with  humble  mind,  350 

The  image  of  the  heavens  in  shape  humane." 

With  that  Alexis  broke  his  tale  asunder, 

1  Betyded,  happened.        a  Read,  perceive.        3  DigJit,  adorned. 
*  Goolds,  marigolds.  5  Paragone,  comparison. 


32  COLIN   CLOUTS 

Saying ;  "  By  wondring  at  thy  Oynthiaes  praise, 
Colin,  thy  selfe  thou  mak'st  us  more  to  wonder, 
And  her  upraising  doest  thy  selfe  upraise.  355 

But  let  us  heare  what  grace  she  shewed  thee, 
And  how  that  shepheard  strange  thy  cause  advanced." 

"  The  Shepheard  of  the  Ocean  (quoth  he) 
Unto  that  Goddesse  grace  me  first  enhanced, 
And  to  mine  oaten  pipe  enclin'd  her  eare,  360 

That  she  thenceforth  therein  gan  take  delight, 
And  it  desir'd  at  timely  houres  to  heare, 
All  were  my  notes  but  rude  and  roughly  dight; 
For  not  by  measure  of  her  owne  great  mynd, 
And  wondrous  worth,  she  mott 1   my  simple  song,  365 
But  ioyd  that  country  shepheard  ought  could  fynd 
Worth  barkening  to,  emongst  the  learned  throng." 

"Why?  (said  Alexis  then,)   what  needeth  shee 
That  is  so  great  a  shepheardesse  her  selfe, 
And  hath  so  many  shepheards  in  her  fee,2  370 

To  heare  thee  sing,  a  simple  silly  elfe? 
Or  be  the  shepheards  which  do  serve  her  laesie,* 
That  they  list  not  their  mery  pipes  applie  ? 
Or  be  their  pipes  untunable  and  craesie, 
That  they  cannot  her  honour  worthylie  ?  "  375 

"  Ah !  nay  (said  Colin)  neither  so,  nor  so : 
For  better  shephearcls  be  not  under  skie, 

1  Mott,  meted,  measured.  3  In  her  fee,  at  her  command. 

3  Laesie,  lazy. 


COME    HOME   AGAINE.  33 

better  hable,  when  they  lisfc  to  blow 
Their  pipes  aloud,  her  name  to  glorifie. 
There  is  good  Harpalus,  now  woxen  aged  380 

In  faithful  service  of  faire  Cynthia : 
And  there  is  Cory  don  through  meanly  waged, 
Yet  hablest  wit  of  most  I  know  this  day. 
And  there  is  sad  Alcyon  bent  to  mourne, 
Though  fit  to  frame  an  everlasting  dittie,  385 

Whose  gentle  spright  for  Daphnes  death  doth  tourn 
Sweet  layes  of  love  to  endlesse  plaints  of  pittie. 
Ah !  pensive  boy,  pursue  that  brave  conceipt, 
In  thy  sweet  Eglantine  of  Meriflure; 
Lift  up  thy  notes  unto  their  wonted  height,  390 

That  may  thy  Muse  and  mates  to  mirth  allure. 
There  eke  is  Palin  worthie  of  great  praise, 
Albe  *  he  envie  at  my  rustick  quill : 
And  there  is  pleasing  Alcon,  could  he  raise 
His  tunes  from  laies  to  matter  of  more  skill.  395 

1  Albe,  although. 

Ver.  380.— Harpalus.]  "  Harpalus  is  probably  Barnaby  Googe,  who 
was  first  a  retainer  to  Cecil,  and  afterwards,  in  1563,  a  gentleman  pensioner 
to  the  queen." — TODD. 

Ver.  382.— Cory  don.}  Cory  don,  according  to  the  same  authority,  is 
Abraham  Fraunce,  a  poet  and  friend  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney. 

Ver.  384. — Alcyon.]  Alcyon  is  Sir  Arthur  Gorges,  upon  the  death  of 
whose  wife,  here  mentioned  under  the  name  of  Daphne,  Spenser  wrote  his 
"  Daphnaida." 

Ver.  392.— Palin.]   Todd  conjectures  that  Palin  means  Thomas  Chaloner, 
a  poet  of  some  reputation  in  his  day. 
2* 


34  COLIN   CLOUTS 

And  there  is  old  Palemon  free  from  spight, 

Whose  carefull  pipe  may  make  the  hearer  rew  : 

Yet  he  himselfe  may  rewed  be  more  right, 

That  sung  so  long  untill  quite  hoarse   he  grew. 

And  there  is  Alabaster  throughly1  taught  400 

In  all  this  skill,  though  knowen  yet  to  few; 

Yet,   were  he   knowne  to  Cynthia  as  he  ought, 

His  Eliseis  would  be  redde  anew. 

Who  lives  that  can  match  that  heroick  song, 

Which  he  hath  of  that  mightie  Princesse  made?      405 

O  dreaded  Dread,  do  not  thy  selfe  that  wrong, 

To  let  thy  fame  lie  so  in  hidden  shade: 

But  call  it  forth,   O  call  him  forth  to  thee, 

To  end  thy  glorie  which  he  hath  begun : 

That,  when  he  finisht  hath  as  it  should  be,  410 

No  braver  Poeme  can  be  under  sun. 

Nor  Po  nor  Tyburs  swans  so  much  renowned, 

Nor  all  the  brood  of  Greece  so  highly  praised, 

Can  match  that  Muse  when  it  with  bayes  is  crowned, 

And  to  the  pitch  of  her  perfection  raised.  415 

And  there  is  a  new  shepheard  late  up  sprong, 

1   Throughly,  thoroughly. 

Ver.  396. — Palemon.]  "  Old  Palemon  seems  to  poipt  at  Thomas  Church- 
yard, who  wrote  a  prodigious  numher  of  poetical  pieces." — TODD. 

Ver.  400.— Alabaster.]  This  is  a  real  name.— William  Alabaster  was  a 
scholar  and  poet  of  Spenser's  time,  of  considerable  eminence.  His  poem  of 
Eliseis,  here  mentioned,  was  never  printed,  but  still  exists  among  the  MS-S. 
of  Emmanuel  College,  Cambridge. 


COME   HOME   AGAINE.  35 

The  which  doth  all  afore  him  far  surpasse  ; 

Appearing  well  in  that  well  tuned  son^, 

Which  late  he  sung  unto  a  scornful  lasse. 

Yet  doth  his  trembling  Muse  but  lowly  flie,  420 

As  daring  not  too  rashly  mount  on  hight, 

And  doth  her  tender  plumes  as  yet  but  trie 

In  loves  soft  laies  and  looser  thoughts  delight. 

Then  rouze  thy  feathers  quickly,  Daniell, 

And  to  what  course  thou  please  thy  self  advance:  425 

But  most,  me  seemes,  thy  accent  will  excell 

In  tragick  plaints  and  passionate  mischance. 

And  there  that  Shepheard  of  the  Ocean  is, 

That  spends  his  wit  in  loves  consuming  smart: 

Full  sweetly  tempred  is  that  Muse  of  his,  430 

That  can  empierce  a  Princes  mightie  hart. 

There  also  is  (ah   no,  he  is  not  now !) 

But  since  I  said  he  is,  he  quite  is  gone, 

Amyntas  quite  is  gone  and  lies  full  low, 

Having  his  Amaryllis  left  to  mone.  435 

Helpe,  O  ye  shepheards,  helpe  ye  all  in  this, 

Helpe  Amaryllis  this  her  losse  to  inourne : 

Her  losse  is  yours,  your  losse  Amyntas  is, 

Amyntas,  floure  of  shepheards  pride  forlorne: 

Ver.  424.— Daniell.]  Samuel  Daniell,  a  well-known  English  poet,  of 
whom  it  is  enough  to  say,  that  he  has  been  highly  commended  by  Words- 
worth and  Coleridge  i 

Ver.  438. — Amyntas.]  Amyntas,  according  to  Todd,  means  Ferdinando 
Earl  of  Derby,  a  nobleman  of  poetical  taste,  who  died  in  1594. 


36  COLIN   CLOUTS 

He  whiles!  he  lived  was  the  noblest  swaine,  440 

That  ever  piped  in  an  oaten  quill: 

Both  did  he  other,  which  could  pipe,  maintaine, 

And  eke  could  pipe  himselfe  with  passing  skill. 

And  there,  though  last  not  least,  in  Action ; 

A  gentler  shepheard  may  no  where  be  found:          445 

"Whose  Muse,  full  of  high  thoughts  invention, 

Doth  like  himselfe  heroically  sound. 

All  these,  and  many  others  mo  remaine, 

Now,  after  Astrofell  is  dead  and  gone: 

But,  while  as  Astrofell  did  live  and  raine,  450 

Amongst  all  these  was  none  his  paragone. 

All  these  do  florish  in  their  sundry  kynd, 

And  do  their  Cynthia  immortall  make: 

Yet  found  I  lyking  in  her  royall  mynd, 

Not  for  my  skill,  but  for  that  shepheards  sake."      455 

Then  spake  a  lovely  lasse,  hight  Lucida; 
"  Shepheard,  enough  of  shepheards  thou  hast  told, 
Which  favour  thee,  and  honour  Cynthia : 
But  of  so  many  nymphs,  which  she  doth  hold 
In  her  retinew,  thou  hast  nothing  sayd;  460 

That  seems,  with  none  of  them  thou  favor  foundest, 
Or  art  ingratefull  to  each  gentle  mayd, 
That  none  of  all  their  due  deserts  resoundest." 

Ver.  444. — Action.]    Aetion,  according  to  Todd,  is  Michael  Drayton,  the 
well-known  author  of  the  Polyolbion,  «fcc. 
Ver.  449— Astrofell.]    Sir  Philip  Sidney. 


COME    HOME   AGAINE.  37 

"  All  far  be  it  (quoth   Colin  Clout)  fro  me, 
That  I  of  gentle  mayds  should  ill  deserve:  465 

For  that  my  selfe  I  do  professe  to  be 
Vassall  to  one,  whom  all  my  dayes  I  serve; 
The  beame  of  beautie  sparkled  from  above, 
The  floure  of  vertue  and  pure  chastitie, 
The  blossome  of  sweet  ioy  and  perfect  love  470 

The  pearle  of  peerlesse  grace  and  modestie : 
To  her  my  thoughts  I  daily  dedicate, 
To  her  my  heart  I  nightly  martyrize 1 : 
To  her  my  love  I  lowly  do  prostrate, 
To  her  my  life  I  wholly  sacrifice :  475 

My  thought,  my  heart,  my  love,  my  life  is  shee, 
And  I  hers  ever  onely,  ever  one : 
One  ever  I  all  vowed  hers  to  bee, 
One  ever  I,  and  others  never  none." 

Then  thus  Melissa  said;   uThrise  happie  Mayd,      480 
Whom  thou  doest  so  enforce  to  deifie : 
That  woods,  and  hills,  and  valleyes  thou  hast  made 
Her  name  to  eccho  unto  heaven  hie. 
But  say,  who  else  vouchsafed  thee  of  grace  ? " 

"  They  all  (quoth  he)  me  graced  goodly  well,       485 
That  all  I  praise;  but,  in  the  highest  place, 
Urania,  sister  unto  Astrofell, 

1  Martyrize,  devote  as  a  martyr. 

Ver.  487.—  Urania,    &c.]     Mary  Countess  of  Pembroke,  sister  of  Sir 
Philip  Sidney,  the  subject  of  Ben  Jonson's  well-known  epitaph : 


38  COLIN   CLOUTS 

In  whose  brave  mynd,  as  in  a  golden  cofer, 

All  heavenly  gifts  and  riches  locked  are^ 

More  rich  then  pearles  of  Ynde,  or  gold  of  Opher,  490 

And  in  her  sex  more  wonderfull  and  rare. 

Ne  lesse  praise- worthie  I  Theana  read, 

Whose  goodly  beames  though  they  be  over  clight1 

With  mourning  stole2  of  carefull3  wydowhead, 

Yet  through  that  darksome  vale  do  glister  bright ;  495 

She  is  the  well  of  bountie  and  brave  mynd, 

Excelling  most  in  glorie  and  great  light: 

She  is  the  ornament  of  womankind, 

And  courts  chief  garlond  with  all  vertues  dight. 

Therefore  great  Cynthia  her  in  chiefest  grace          500 

Doth  hold,  and  next  unto  her  selfe  advance, 

Well  worthie  of  so  honourable  place, 

For  her  great  worth  and  noble  governance. 

Ne  lesse  praise-worthie  is  her  sister  deare, 

Faire  Marian,  the  Muses  onely  darling:  505 

*'  Underneath  this  sable  herse 
Lies  the  subject  of  all  verse ; 
Sidney's  sister,  Pembroke's  mother  : 
Death,  ere  thou  hast  killed  another, 
Fair,  and  learned,  and  good  as  she, 
Time  shall  throw  a  dart  at  thee." 

1  Over  dight,  covered  oVer.          a  Stble,  robe.          s  Carefull,  sorrowfull. 
Ver.  492.— Theana.]     TJieana,  according  to  Todd,  is  Anne,  third  wife  of 
the  Earl  of  Warwick,  whose  exemplary  widowhood  is  commended  in  the 
Buines  of  Time,  ver.  250,  &o. 

Ver.  505. — Marian.]    Margaret  Countess  of  Cumberland,  to  whom  and 
her  sister,  the  Countess  of  Warwick,  Spenser  inscribes  his  Four  Hymns. 


COME   HOME   AGAINE.  39 

Whose  beautie  shyneth  as  the  morning  cleare, 

With  silver  deaw  upon  the  roses  pearling. 

No  lesse  praise-worthie  is  Mansilia, 

Best  knowne  by  bearing  up  great  Cynthiaes  traine : 

That  same  is  she  to  whom  Daphnaida  510 

Upon  her  neeces  death  I  did  complaine: 

She  is  the  paterne  of  true  womanhead, 

And  onely  mirrhor  of  feminitie : 

Worthie  next  after  Cynthia  to  tread, 

As  she  is  next  her  in  nobilitie.  515 

Ne  lesse  praise-worthie  Galathea  seemes, 

Then  best  of  all  that  honourable  crew, 

Faire  Galathea  with  bright  shining  beames, 

Inflaming  feeble  eyes  that  her  do  view. 

She  there  then  waited  upon  Cynthia,  520 

Yet  there  is  not  her  won1;  but  here  with  us 

About  the  borders  of  our  rich   Coshma, 

Now  made  of  Maa,  the  Nymph  delitious. 

N"e  lesse  praise-worthie  faire  NeaBra  is, 

Nerera  ours,  not  theirs,  though  there   she  be ;          525 

For  of  the  famous  Shure,  the  Nymph  she  is, 

For  high  desert,  advaunst  to  that  degree. 

She  is  the  blosome  of  grace  and  curtesie, 

Adorned  with  all  honourable  parts: 

1  Won,  dwelling. 

Ver.  508. — Mansilia,]     Helena  Marchioness  of  Northampton,  to  whom 
Daphnaida  is  inscribed. 


40  COLIN    CLOUTS 

She  is  the  braunch  of  true  nobilitie,  530 

Belov'd  of  high  and  low  with  faithfull  harts. 

£Te  lesse  praise-worthie  Stella  do  I  read, 

Though  nought  my  praises  of  her  needed  arre, 

Whom  verse  of  noblest  shepheard  lately  dead 

Hath  prais'd  and  rais'd  above  each  other  starre.      535 

~N"e  lesse  praise-worthie  are  the  sisters  three, 

The  honor  of  the  noble  farnilie: 

Of  which  I  meanest  boast  my  selfe  to  be, 

And  most  that  unto  them  I  am  so  nie: 

Phyllis,  Charillis,  and  sweet  Amaryllis.  540 

Phyllis,  the  faire,  is  eldest  of  the  three: 

The  next  to  her  is  bountifull  Charillis : 

But  th'  youngest  is  the  highest  in  degree. 

Phyllis,  the  floure  of  rare  perfection, 

Faire  spreading  forth  her  leaves  with  fresh  delight,  545 

That,  with  their  beauties  amorous  reflexion, 

Bereave  of  sence  each  rash  beholders  sight. 

But  sweet  Charillis  is  the  paragone 

Ver.  532.— Stella.]  This  is  Lady  Penelope  Devereux,  daughter  of  Walter 
Earl  of  Essex,  of  whom  Sir  Philip  Sidney  was  an  unsuccessful  lover.  He 
celebrated  her  in  his  Arcadia  under  the  name  of  Philoclea,  and  in  that  of 
Stella  in  his  poems  of  Astrofell.  She  became  the  wife  of  Robert  Lord  Rich. 

Ver.  54Q.— Phyllis,  &c.]  On  Todd's  authority,  Phillis,  Charillis,  and 
Amaryllis  are  the  three  daughters  of  Sir  John  Spenser.  Charillis  was  mar- 
ried, at  this  time,  to  Sackville  Lord  Buckhurst,  being  her  third  husband. 
Mother  Hubberds  Tale  is  dedicated  to  her.  Amaryllis  is  Lady  Strange,  to 
whom  the  Teares  of  the  Muses  is  inscribed.  Phillis  is  Lady  Carey,  to  whom 
Muiopoimos  is  inscribed. 


COME   HOME   AGAINE.  41 

Of  peerlesse  price,  and  ornament  of  praise, 

Admyr'd   of  all,   yet  envied  of  none,  550 

Through  the  myld  temperance  of  her  goodly  raies. 

Thrise  happie  do  I  hold  thee,  noble  swaine, 

The  which  art  of  so  rich  a  spoile  possest, 

And,  it  embracing  deare  without  disdaine, 

Hast  sole  possession  in  so  chaste  a  brest :  555 

Of  all  the  shepheards  daughters  which  there  bee, 

And  yet  there  be  the  fairest  under  skie, 

Or  that  elsewhere  I  ever  yet  did  see, 

A  fairer  Nymph  yet   never  saw  mine  eie ; 

She  is  the  pride  and  primrose  of  the  rest,  560 

Made  by  the  Maker  selfe  to  be  admired ; 

And  like  a  goodly  beacon  high  addrest, 

That  is  with  sparks  of  heavenlie  beautie  fired. 

But  Amaryllis,  whether  fortunate 

Or  else  unfortunate  may  I  aread,  565 

That  freed  is  from  Cupids  yoke  by  fate, 

Since  which  she  doth  new  bands  adventure  dread, — 

Shepheard,  what  ever  thou  hast  heard  to  be 

In  this  or  that  praysd  diversly  apart, 

In  her  thou  maist  them  all  assembled  see,  570 

And  seald  up  in  the  threasure  of  her  hart. 

Ne  thee  lesse  worthie,  gentle  Flavia, 

For  thy  chaste  life  and  vertue  I  esteeme: 

Ne  thee  lesse  worthie,  curteous   Candida, 

For  thy  true  love  and  loyaltie  I  deeme.  575 


42  COLIN   CLOUTS 

Besides  yet  many  mo  that  Cynthia  serve, 

Eight  noble  Nymphs,    and  high  to  be   commended : 

But,  if  I  all  should  praise  as  they  deserve, 

This  sun  would  faile  me  ere  I  halfe  had  ended. 

Therefore,  in  closure  of  a  thankfull  mynd,  580 

I  deeme  it  best  to  hold  eternally 

Their  bounteous  deeds  and  noble  favours  shrynd, 

Then  by  discourse  them  to  indignifie." 

So  having  said,  Aglaura  him  bespake : 
"  Colia,  well  worthie  were  those  goodly  favours     585 
Bestowed  on  thee,  that  so  of  them  doest  make, 
And  them  requitest  with  thy  thankfull  labours. 
But  of  great  Cynthiaes  goodnesse,  and  high  grace, 
Finish  the  storie  which  thou  hast  begunne." 

"  More  eath i  (quoth  he)  it  is  in  such  a  case       590 
How  to  begin,  then  know  how  to  have  donne. 
For  everie  gift,  and  everie  goodly  meed, 
"Which  she  on  me  bestowed,   demaunds  a  day ; 
And  everie  day,  in  which  she  did  a  deed, 
Demaunds  a  yeare  it  duly  to  display.  595 

Her  words  were  like  a  streame  of  honny  fleeting, 
The  which  doth  softly  trickle  from  the  hive: 
Hable  to  melt  the  hearers  heart  unweeting,2 
And  eke  to  make  the  dead  againe  alive. 
Her  deeds  were  like  great  clusters  of  ripe  grapes,  600 
Which  'load  the  bunches  of  the  fruitfull  vine ; 

1  Eath,  easy.  a  Unweeting,  unconsciously. 


COME   HOME   AGAINE.  43 

Offring  to  fall  into  each  mouth  that  gapes, 

And  fill  the  same  with  store  of    timely  wine. 

Her  lookes  were  like  beames  of  the  morning  sun, 

Forth  looking  through  the  windowes  of  the  east,    605 

When  first  the  fleecie  cattell  have  begun 

Upon  the  perled  grasse  to  make  their  feast. 

Her  thoughts  are  like  the  fume  of.  franckincence, 

Which  from  a  golden  censer  forth  doth   rise, 

And  throwing  forth  sweet  odours  mounts  fro  thence  610 

In  rolling  globes  up  to  the  vauted1  skies. 

There  she  beholds,  with  high  aspiring  thought, 

The  cradle  of  her  owne  creation, 

Emongst  the  seats  of  angels  heavenly  wrought, 

Much  like  an  angell  in  all  forme  and  fashion."        615 

"Colin,  (said   Cuddy  then,)  thou  hast  forgot 
Thy  selfe,  me  seemes,  too  much,  to  mount  so  hie : 
Such  loftie  flight  base2  shepheard  seemeth  not, 
From  flocks  and  fields,  to  angels  and  to  skie." 

"  True,  (answered  he,)  but  her  great  excellence   620 
Lifts  me  above  the  measure  of  my  might : 
That,  being  fild  with  furious  insolence, 
I  feele  my  selfe  like  one  yrapt  in  spright.3 
For  when  I  thinke  of  her,  as  oft  I  ought, 
Then   want  I  words  to  speake  it  fitly  forth  : 
And,  when  I  speake  of  her  what  I  have  thought; 

1  Vauted,  vaulted.  a  Base,  humble. 

8  Yrapt  in  spright,  rapt  in  spirit. 


44  COLIN    CLOUTS 

I  cannot  thinke  according  to  her  worth. 

Yet  will  I  thinke  of  her,  yet  will  I  speake, 

So  long  as  life  my  limbs  doth  hold  together ; 

And,  when  as  death  these  vital  1  bands  shall  breake,  630 

Her  name  recorded  I  will  leave  for  ever. 

Her  name  in  every  tree  I  will  endosse,1 

That,  as  the  trees  do  grow,  her  name  may  grow: 

And  in  the  ground  each  where  will  it  engrosse, 

And  fill  with  stones,  that  all  men  may  it  know.     635 

The  spe.iking  woods,  and  murmuring  waters  fall, 

Her  name  He  teach  in  knowen  termes  to  frame: 

And  eke  my  lambs,  when  for  their  dams  they  call, 

lie  teach  to  call  for  .Cynthia  by  name. 

And,  long  while  after  I  am  dead  and  rotten,  640 

Amongst  the  shepheards  daughters  dancing  rownd, 

My  layes  made  of  her  shall  not  be  forgotten, 

But  sung  by  them  with  flowry  gyrlonds  crownd. 

And   ye,  who  so  ye  be,  that  shall  survive, 

"When  as  ye  heare  her  memory  renewed,  645 

Be  witnesse  of  her  bountie  here  alive, 

Which  she  to  Colin  her  poore  shepheard  shewed." 

Much  was  the  whole  assembly  of  those  heards 
Moov'd  at  his  speech,  so  feelingly  he  spake : 
And  stood  awhile  astonisht  at  his  words,  650 

Till  Thestylis  at  last  their  silence  brake, 
Saying;  "Why  Colin,  since  thou  foundst  such  grace 

1  Endosse,  write  on  the  back,  engrave. 


COME    HOME   AGAINE.  45 

"With  Cynthia  and  all  her  noble  crew; 

Why  didst  thou  ever  leave  that  happie  place, 

In  which  such  wealth  might  unto  thee  accrew ;       655 

And  back  returnedst  to  this  barrein  soyle, 

Where  cold  and  care  and  penury  do  dwell, 

Here  to  keep  sheepe,  with  hunger  and  with  toyle? 

Most  wretched  he,  that  is  and  cannot  tell." 

"Happie  indeed  (said  Colin)  I  him  hold,  660 

That  may  that  blessed  presence  still  enjoy, 
Of  fortune  and  of  envy  uncomptrold, 
Which  still  are  wont  most  happie  states  t'  annoy  : 
But  I,  by  that  which  little  while  I  prooved, 
Some  part  of  those  enormities  did  see,  665 

The  which  in  court  continually  hooved,1 
And  followed  those  which  happie  seemed  to  bee. 
Therefore  I,  silly  man,   whose  former  dayes 
Had  in  rude  fields  bene  altogether  spent, 
Durst  not  adventure  such  unknowen  wayes,  670 

Nor  trust  the  guile  of  fortunes  blandishment ; 
But  rather  chose  back  to  my  sheep  to  tourne, 
Whose  utmost  hardnesse  I  before  had  tryde, 
Then,  having  learnd  repentance  late,  to  mourne 
Emongst  those  wretches  which  I  there  descryde."  675 

"  Shepheard,  (said  Thestylis,)  it  seemes  of  spight, 
Thou  speakest  thus  gainst  their  felicitie, 
Which  thou  enviest,  rather  then  of  right 

1  Hooved,  hovered. 


46  COLIN    CLOUTS 

That  ought  in  them  blameworthie  thou  doest  spie." 

"  Cause  have  I  none  (quoth  he)  of  cancred  will    680 
To  quite  l  them  ill,  that  me  demeand 2  so  well : 
But  selfe-regard  of  private  good  or  ill 
Moves  me  of  each,  so  as  I  found,  to  tell 
And  eke  to  warne  yong  shepheards  wandring  wit, 
Which,  through  report  of  that  lives  painted  blisse,   685 
Abandon  quiet  home,  to  seeke  for  it, 
And  leave  their  lambes  to  losse  misled  amisse. 
For,  sooth3  to  say,  it  is  no  sort  of  life, 
For  shepheard  fit  to  lead  in  that  same  place, 
Where  each  one  seeks  with  malice,  and  with  strife,  690 
To  thrust  downe  other  into  foule  disgrace, 
Himselfe  to  raise :  and  he  doth  soonest  rise 
That  best  can  handle  his  deceitfull  wit 
In  subtil  shifts,  and  finest  sleights  devise, 
Either  by  slaundring  his  well  deemed  name,  695 

Through  leasings  lewd,4   and  fained  forgerie ; 
Or  else  by  breeding  him  some  blot  of  blame, 
By  creeping  close  into  his  secrecie ; 
To  which  him  needs  a  guilefull  hollow  hart, 
Masked  with  faire  dissembling  curtesie,  700 

A  filed5   toung  furnisht  with  tearmes  of  art, 
No  art  of  schoole,  but  courtiers  schoolery. 
For  arts  of  schoole  have  there  small  countenance, 

1  Quite,  requite.  3  Demeand,  treated.  s  Sooth,  truth. 

*  Leasings  lewd,  wicked  falsehoods.  *  Filed,  smooth,  artful. 


COME   HOME   AGAINE.  47 

Counted  but  toyes  to  busie  ydle  braines ; 

And  there  professours  find  small  maintenance,          T05 

But  to  be  instruments  of  others  gaines. 

Ne  is  there  place  for  any  gentle  wit, 

Unlesse,  to  please,  it  selfe  it  can  applie  ; 

But  shouldred  is,   or  out  of  doore  quite  shit, 

As  base,   or  blunt,  unmeet  for  melodic.  710 

For  each  mans  worth  is  measured  by  his  weed,1 

As  harts  by  homes,  or  asses  by  their  eares : 

Yet  asses  been  not  all  whose  eares  exceed, 

Nor  yet  all  harts  that  homes  the  highest  beares. 

For  highest  lookes  have  not  the  highest  mynd,       715 

Nor  haughtie  words  most  full  of  highest  thoughts : 

But  are  like  bladders  blowen  up  with  wynd, 

That  being  prickt  do  vanish  into  noughts. 

Even  such  is  all  their  vaunted  vanitie, 

Nought  else  but  smoke,  that  fumeth  soone  away :  720 

Such  is  their  glorie  that  in  simple  eie 

Seeme  greatest,   when  their  garments  are  most  gay. 

So  they  themselves  for  praise  of  fooles  do  sell, 

And  all  their  wealth  for  painting  on  a  wall ; 

With  price  whereof  they  buy   a  golden  bell,  725 

And  purchase  highest  rowmes  in  bowre  and  hall : 

Whiles  single  Truth  and  simple  Honestie 

Do  wander  up  and  downe  despys'd  of  all; 

Their  plaine  attire  such  glorious  gallantry 

1   Weed,  dress. 


48  COLIN   CLOUTS 

Disdaines  so  much,  that  none  them  in  doth  call."   730 

uAh!   Colin,  (then  said  Hobbinol,)  the  blame 
Which  thou  imputest,  is  too  generall, 
As  if  not  any  gentle  wit  of  name 
Nor  honest  mynd  might  there  be  found  at  all. 
For  well  I  wot,1  sith2  I  my  selfe  was  there,  7o5 

To  wait  on  Lobbin,   (Lobbin  well  thou  knewest,) 
Full  many  worthie  ones  then  waiting  were, 
As  ever  else  in  princes  court  thou  vewest. 
Of  which,  among  you  many  yet  remaine, 
Whose  names  I  cannot  readily  now  ghesse :  740 

Those  that  poore  Sutors  papers  do  retaine, 
And  those  that  skill  of  medicine  professe, 
And  those  that  do  to  Cynthia  expound 
The  ledden 3  of  straunge  languages  in  charge : 
For  Cynthia  doth  in  sciences  abound,  745 

And  gives  to  their  professors  stipends  large. 
Therefore  uniustly  thou  doest  wyte 4  them  all, 
For  that  which  thou  mislikedst  in  a  few." 

"  Blame  is  (quoth  he)  more  blamelesse  generall, 
Then  that  which  private  errours  doth  pursew ;       '750 
For  well  T  wot,1  that  there  amongst  them  bee 
Full  many  persons  of  right  worthie  parts, 
Both  for  report  of  spotlesse  honestie, 
And  for  profession  of  atl  learned  arts, 

1  Wot,  know.  s  Ledden,  dialect. 

»  Sith,  since.  «  Wyte,  blame. 


COME    HOME   AGAINE.  49 

Whose  praise  hereby  no  whit  impaired  is, 

Though  blame  do  light  on  those  that  faultie  bee; 

For  all  the  rest  do  most- what1  far  amis, 

And  yet  their  owne  misfaring2  will  not  see: 

For  either  they  be  puffed  up  with  pride, 

Or  fraught  with  envie  that  their  galls  do  swell, 

Or  they  their  dayes  to  ydlenesse  divide, 

Or  drownded  die  in  pleasures  wastefull  well, 

In  which  like  moldwarps3  nousling4  still  they  lurke, 

Unmindful  1  of  chiefe  parts  of  manlinesse ; 

And  do  themselves,  for  want  of  other  worke, 

Vaine  votaries  of  laesie6  Love  professe, 

"Whose  service  high  so  basely  they  ensew, 

That  Cupid  selfe  of  them  ashamed  is, 

And,  mustring  all  his  men  in  Venus  vew, 

Denies  them  quite  for  servitors  of  his." 

"  And  is  love  then  (said  Corylas)  once  knowne 
In  Court,  and  his  sweet  lore  professed  there? 
I  weened  sure  he  was  our  god  alone, 
And  only  woond 6  in  fields  and  forests  here :  " 

"  Not  so,  (quoth  he,)  Love  most  aboundeth  there.  775 
For  all  the  walls  and  windows  there  are  writ, 
All  full  of  love,  and  love,  and  love  my  deare, 
And  all  their  talke  and  studie  is  of  it. 
Ne  any  there  doth  brave  or  valiant  seeme, 

1  Most-wTiat,  generally.         3  Moldwarps,  moles.  *  Laesie,  lazy. 

a  Misfaring,  evil-doing.        *  Noulsing,  burrowing.        8  Woondy  dwelt. 

8 


50  COLIN   CLOUTS 

Unlesse  that  some  gay  Mistresse  badge  he  beares : 

Ne  any  one  himselfe  doth  ought  esteeme, 

Unlesse  he  swim  in  love  up  to  the  eares. 

But  they  of  Love,  and  of  his  sacred  lere,3 

(As  it  should  be,)  all  otherwise  devise, 

Then  we  poore  shepheards  are  accustomd  here, 

And  him  do  sue  and  serve  all  otherwise. 

For  with  lewd2  speeches,  and  licentious  deeds, 

His  mightie  mysteries  they  do  prophane, 

And  use  his  ydle  name   to  other  needs, 

But  as  a  complement   for  courting  vaine. 

So  him  they  do  not  serve  as  they  professe, 

But  make  him  serve  to  them  for  sordid  uses : 

Ah !  my  dread  Lord,  that  doest  liege  hearts  possesse, 

Avenge  thy  selfe  on  them  for  their  abuses. 

But  we  poore  shepheards  whether  rightly  so, 

Or  through  our  rudenesse  into  errour  led, 

Do   make  religion  how  we  rashly  go 

To  serve  that  god,  that  is  so  greatly  dred  3 ; 

For  him  the  greatest  of  the  gods  we  deeme, 

Borne  without  syre  or  couples  of  one  kynd; 

For  Venus  selfe  doth  soly4  couples  seeme, 

Both  male  and  female  through  commixture  ioynd: 

So  pure  and  spotlesse  Cupid  forth  she  brought, 

And  in  the  Gardens  of  Adonis  nurst : 

1  Itere,  lore.  8  Dred,  dreaded. 

8  Lewd,  evil.  *  Soly,  solely. 


COME   HOME    AGAINE.  51 

Where  growing  he  his  owne  perfection  wrought, 
And  shortly  was  of  all  the  gods  the  first. 
Then  got  he  bow  and  shafts  of  gold  and  lead, 
In  which  so  fell  and  puissant  he  grew, 
That  love  himselfe  his  powre  began  to  dread, 
And,   taking  up  to  heaven,  him  godded l  new. 
From  thence  he  shootes  his  arrowes  every  where 
Into  the  world,  at  random  as  he  will, 
On  us  fraile  men,  his    wretched  vassals  here, 
Like  as  himselfe  us  pleaseth  save  or  spill.2 
So  we  him  worship,  so  we  him  adore 
With  humble  hearts  to  heaven  uplifted  hie, 
That  to  true  loves  he  may  us  evermore 
Preferre,  and  of  their  grace  us  dignifie  : 
Ne  is  there  shepheard,   ne  yet  shepheards  swaine, 
What  ever  feeds  in  forest  or  in  field, 
That  dare  with  evil  deed  or  leasing  3  vaine 
Blaspheme  his  powre,  or  termes  unworthie  yield." 
"Shepheard,  it  seemes  that  some  celestiall  rage 
Of  love  (quoth  Cuddy)  is  breath'd  into  thy  brest, 
That  powreth  forth  these  oracles  so  sage 
Of  that  high  powre,  wherewith  thou  art  possest. 
But  never  wist4 1  till  this  present  day, 
Albe  5  of  Love  I  alwayes  humbly  deemed, 

1  Godded,  made  a  god.  3  Leasing,  falsehood. 

a  Spitt,  spoil.  *  Wist,  knew. 

6  Att>ey  although. 


52  COLIN   CLOUTS 

That  he  was  such  an  one,  as  thou  dost  say, 
And  so  religiously  to  be  esteemed. 
Well  may  it  seeme,  by  this  thy  deep  insight, 
That  of  that  god  the  priest  thou  shouldest  bee; 
So  well  thou  wot'st 1  the  mysterie  of  his  might, 
As  if  his  godhead  thou  didst  present  see." 

"  Of  Loves  perfection  perfectly  to  speake, 
Or  of  his  nature  rightly  to  define, 
Indeed  (said  Colin)  passeth  reasons  reach, 
And  needs  his  priest  t'  expresse  his  powre  divine. 
For  long  before  the  world  he  was  ybore,2 
And  bred  above  in  Venus  bosome  deare: 
For  by  his  powre  the  world  was  made  of  yore, 
And  all  that  therein  wondrous  doth  appeare. 
For  how  should  else  things  so    far  from  attone,3 
And  so  great  enemies  as  of  them  bee, 
Be  ever  drawne  together  into  one, 
And  taught  in  such  accordance  to  agree? 
Through  him  the  cold  began  to  covet  heat, 
And  water  fire ;  the  light  to  mount  on  hie, 
And  th'  heavie  downe  to  peize  4 ;  the  hungry  V  eat, 
And  voydnesse  to  seek  full  satietie. 
So,  being  former  foes,  they  wexed  friends, 
And  gan  by  little  learne  to  love  each  other : 
So,  being  knit,  they  brought  forth  other  kynds 

1  Wot'st,  knowest.  *  Attone,  at  one,  in  harmony. 

a  Ybore,  born.  *  Peize,  poise,  weigh. 


COME    HOME   AGAINE.  53 

Out  of  the  fruitfull  wombe  of  their  great  mother. 
Then  first  gan  heaven  out  of  darknesse  dread 
For  to  appeare,  and  brought  forth  chearfull  day: 
Next  gan  the  earth  to  shew  her  naked  head, 
Out  of  deep  waters  which  her  drownd  alway  : 
And,  shortly  after,  everie  living  wight 
Crept  forth  like  wormes  out  of  her  slimie  nature. 
Soone  as  on  them  the  suns  life-giving  light 
Had  powred  kindly  heat  and  formall  feature, 
Thenceforth  they  gan  each  one  his  like  to  love, 
And  like  himselfe  desire  for  to  beget: 
The  lyon  chose  his  mate,  the  turtle  dove 
Her  deare,  the  dolphin  his  owne  dolphinet; 
But  man,  that  had  the  sparke  of  reasons  might 
More  then  the  rest  to  rule  his  passion, 
Chose  for  his  love  the  fairest  in  his  sight, 
Like  as  himselfe  was  fairest  by  creation: 
For  Beautie  is  the  bayt  which  with  delight 
Doth  man  allure  for  to  enlarge  his  kynd; 
Beautie,  the  burning  lamp  of  heavens  light, 
Darting  her  beames  into  each  feeble  mynd : 
Against  whose  powre,  nor  God  nor  mancanfynd 
Defence,  ne  ward  the  daunger  of  the  wound ; 
But,  being  hurt,  seeke  to  be  medicynd 
Of  her  that  first  did  stir  that  mortall  stownd.1 
Then  do  they  cry  and  call  to  Love  apace, 

1  fitownd,  attack. 


54  COLIN   CLOUTS 

With  praiers  loud  importuning  the  skie, 
Whence  he  them  heares  ;  and,  when  he  list  shew  grace 
Does  graunt  them  grace  that  otherwise  would  die. 
So  Love  is  lord  of  all  the  world  by  right, 
And  rules  their  creatures  by  his  powerfull  saw l ; 
All  being  made  the  vassals  of  his  might, 
Through  secret  sence  which  therto  doth  them  draw. 
Thus  ought  all  lovers  of  their  lord  to  deeme ; 
And  with  chaste  heart  to  honor  him  alway: 
But  who  so  else  doth  otherwise  esteeme, 
Are  outlawes,  and  his  lore  do  disobay. 
For  their  desire  is  base,  and  doth  not  merit 
The  name  of  love,  but  of  disloyal  lust : 
Ne  mongst  true  lovers  they  shall  place  inherit, 
But  as  exuls 2  out  of  his  court  be  thrust." 
So  having  said,  Melissa  spake  at  will ; 
"  Colin,  thon  now  full  deeply  hast  divynd 
Of  Love  and  Beautie ;  and,  with  wondrous  skill, 
Hast  Cupid  selfe  depainted  in  his  kynd. 
To  thee  are  all  true  lovers  greatly  bound, 
That  doest  their  cause  so  mightily  defend ; 
But  most,  all  wemen  are  thy  debtors  found, 
That  doest  their  bountie  still  so  much  commend." 
"  That  ill  (said  Hobbinol)  they  him  requite, 
For  having  loved  ever  one  most  deare  : 
He  is  repayd  with  scorn e  and  foule  despite, 
1  Saw,  sentence,  decree.  *  Exuls,  exiles. 


COME   HOME   AGAINE.  55 

That  yrkes1  each  gentle  heart  which  it  doth  heare." 
"Indeed   (said  Lucid)  I  have  often  heard 

Fair  Rosalind  of  divers  fowly  blamed 

For  being  to  that  swaine  too  cruell  hard ; 

That  her  bright  glorie  else  hath  much  defamed. 

But  who  can  tell  wh:;t  cause  had  that  faire  Mayd 

Tn  use  him  so  that  used  her  so  well ; 

Or  who  with  blame  can  iustly  her  upbrayd, 

For  loving  not?  for  who  can  love  compell? 

And,  sooth 2  to  say,  it  is  foolhardie  thing, 

Eashly  to  wyten 3  creatures  so  divine  ; 

For  demigods  they  be,  and  first  did  spring 

From  heaven,  though  graft  in  frailnesse  feminine. 

And  well  I  wote,4  that  oft  I  heard  it  spoken, 

How  one,  that  fairest  Helene  did  revile, 

Through  iudgment  of  the  gods  to  been  ywroken,5 

Lost  both  his  eyes,  and  so  remaynd  long  while, 

Till  he  recanted  had  his  wicked  rimes, 

And  made  amends  to  her  with  treble  praise. 

Beware  therefore,  ye  groomes,  I  read c  betimes, 

How  rashly  blame  of  Kosalind  ye  raise." 

"  Ah !  shepheards,  (then  said  Colin,)  ye  neweet7 

How  great  a  guilt  upon  your  heads  ye  draw, 

To  make  so  bold  a  doome,  with  words  unmeet, 

1  Yrkes,  grieves.  a  Sooth,  truth.  *  Wyten,  blame. 

*  Wote,  know.       5  Ywroken,  avenged,  punished.          6  Read,  advise. 

7  TTee^know. 
Ver.  920— How  one,  &c.]      This  story  is  told  of  the  poet  Stesichorus. 


56  COLIN    CLOUTS   COME    HOME  AGAINE. 

Of  thing  celestiall  which  ye  never  saw. 
For  she  is  not  like  as  the  other  crew 
Of  shepheards  daughters  which   emongst  you  bee, 
But  of  divine  regard  and  heavenly  hew, 
Excelling  all  that  ever  ye  did  see. 
Not  then  to  her  that  scorned  thing  so  base, 
But  to  my  selfe  the  blame  that  lookt  so  hie : 
So  hie  her  thoughts  as  she  her  selfe  have  place, 
And  loath  each  lowly  thing  with  loftie  eie. 
Yet  so  much  grace  let  her  vouchsafe  to  grant 
To  simple  swaine,  sith  l  her  I  may  not  love : 
Yet  that  I  may  her  honour  paravant,2 
And  praise  her  worth,  though  far  my  wit  above. 
Such  grace  shall  be  some  guerdon  for  the  griefe, 
And  long  affliction  which  I  have  endured : 
Such  grace  sometimes  shall  give  me  some  reliefe, 
And  ease  of  paine  which  cannot  be  recured. 
And  ye,  my  iellow  shepheards,  which  do  see 
And  hear  the  languours  of  my  too  loog  dying, 
Unto  the  world  for  ever  witnesse  bee, 
That  hers  I  die,  nought  to  the  world  denying, 
This  simple  trophe 3  of  her  great  conquest." — 
So,  having  ended,  he  from  ground  did  rise ; 
And  after  him  uprose  eke  all  the  rest. 
All  loth  to  part,  but  that  the  glooming  skies 
Warnd  them  to  draw  their  bleating  flocks  to  rest. 

1  Sith,  since.  3  Paravant,  publicly.  8  Trophe,  trophy. 


CHAPTER  II. 

WE  remark,  first,  that  by  shepherds,  in  this  poem, 
we  are  to  understand  Shepherds  of  Arcadia;  and 
these  again  are  honest  men,  and  sometimes  poets, 
who  are  supposed  to  be  true  to  Nature,  their  sove- 
reign mistress.  Their  so-called  "  oaten  pipe,"  is  a 
figure  for  their  musical  or  harmonious  spirits,  which 
are  supposed  to  be  attuned  to  one  universal  har- 
mony, by  which  they  harmonize  with  each  other, 
and  are  thus  classed  together  as  "  peers,"  line  5  of 
the  poem.  But,  although  thus  classed  together, 
they  manifest  every  diversity,  as  among  each  other, 
just  as  we  know  the  poets  of  Spenser's  age  did  at 
the  time  when,  in  the  character  of  Colin  Clouts,  the 
poet  represents  himself  as  accosted  by  one  whom  he 
calls  a  groom,  "hight"  Hobbinol  (line  15),  with  a 
request  to  detail  his  adventures  during  a  certain 
journey,  telling  him  how  sad  a  time  his  absence  had 
given  his  friends,  during  which  (line  23) : 


58  COLIN   CLOUTS  [CHAP.  n. 

The  woods  were  heard  to  wail  full  many  a  time, 
And   all  the  birds  with   silence   to   complain. 
The  fields  with    faded  flowers   did  seem  to  mourn, 
And  all  the  flocks  from  feeding  to  refrain. 

The  running  waters    even  wept  for  his  return, 


The  writer  of  these  remarks  is  led  to  suppose 
that  the  touching  beauty  of  this  lament  does  not  lie 
in  the  mere  fact  that  some  shepherds  have  been 
moved  to  this  mode  of  expressing  their  grief  for  the 
temporary  absence  of  a  companion,  but  he  sees  in 
these  lines  the  peculiar  grief  which  marks  a  poet's 
sense  of  deprivation,  when  what  is  called  the  spirit 
has  been  withdrawn.  He  is  reminded  by  these  lines 
of  the  97th  Sonnet  of  Shakespeare : 

*f  How  like  a  winter  hath  my  absence  been 
Prom  thee,  the  pleasure  of  the  fleeting   year! 
What  freezings  have  I   felt,  what  dark  days  seen  ! 
What   old  December's  bareness   everywhere  ! 
And  yet  this  time  removed  was  summer's  time — 
****** 

For   summer   and  his   pleasures   wait   on  thee, 
And,   thou   away,  the  very  birds   are   mute ; 


CHAP,  ii.]  INTERPRETED.  59 

Or,  if  they  sing,  'tis  with  so   dull  a  cheer, 

That  leaves  look  pale,  dreading  the  winter's  near." 

This  expresses  the  grief  of  the  poet  for  the  ab- 
sence of  the  Arcadian  Beauty;  and  this  is  the  sense 
of  the  lines  in  Spenser  where  Colin,  for  the  purposes 
of  the  poet,  represents  the  spirit  of  Arcadia  itself. 

Nothing  is  more  common  among  the  poets  than 
these  expressions  of  deep  grief  at  periods  when  the 
poetic  inspiration  is  withdrawn;  and  this  is  true 
also  of  certain  religious  temperaments,  as  may  be 
seen  in  the  life  of  Pay  son  and  others.  Geo.  Herbert 
is  an  example  of  both,  being  a  religious  poet.  He 
is  perpetually  lamenting  the  absence  of  the  Spirit, 
meaning  the  Spirit  of  Christ.  A  poem  in  his  works 
entitled  "  A  Parodie,"  begins  thus : 

"  Souls  joy,  when  thou  art  gone 
And  I  alone, 
Which  cannot  be, 
Because  thou  dost  abide  with  me, 
And  I  depend  on  thee  ; 

Yet  when  thou  dost  suppress 
The  cheerfulness 
Of  thy  abode1* 
[meaning  his  soul] 


60  COLIN   CLOUTS 

And  in  my  powers  not  stir  abroad, 
But  leave  me  to  my  load: 

0  what  a  damp  and  shade 
Doth  me  invade! 
No  stormy  night 

Can  so  afflict,  or  so  affright, 
As  thy  eclipsed  light." 


The  writer  did  not  intend  to  run  into  these  com- 
parisons, and  yet  they  furnish  materials  for  seri- 
ous psychological  study ;  for  it  is  not  at  all  beyond 
the  limits  of  the  possible,  but  that  Herbert  and  Spen- 
ser had  a  vision  of  the  same  (Arcadian)  land,  though 
under  some  unimportant  varying  accompaniments ; 
and  if  we  could  discover  a  definite  object  in  the  poet 
of  the  Canticles,  we  might  make  an  important  dis- 
covery touching  some  of  the  most  wonderful  and 
fascinating  experiences  in  life. 

But  we  must  return  from  this  digression. 

Colin,  that  is,  the  poet,  being  invited,  as  we  have 
said,  to  give  an  account  of  his  journey,  which  we 
insist  was  a  journey  to  Arcadia,  or  the  poet's  para- 
dise, professes  himself  very  willing  to  yield  assent 
(line  37,  &c.),  declaring  how  happy  his  journey  had 


CHAP,  ii.]  INTERPRETED.  61 

made  him ;  for,  says  he,  referring  to  the  queen  of  the 
country  he  had  visited  (line  40,  &c.)  : 

Since  I  saw  that  angel's  blessed  eye, 

Her  world's  bright  sun,  her  heaven's  fairest  light, 

My  mind,  full  of  my  thoughts'  satietie, 

Doth  feed  on  sweet  contentment  of  that  sight : 

No  feeling  have  hi  any  earthly  pleasure, 

But  in  remembrance  of  that  glory  bright, 

My  life's  sole  bliss,  my  heart's  eternal  treasure. 

Spenser's  35th  Sonnet,  and  Shakespeare's  109th 
and  112th  Sonnets,  are  written  in  the  same  vein. 

The  poet  now  commences  his  story  (line  56),  by 
giving  an  account,  to  be  understood  as  mystical,  of 
his  having  been  seated  at  the  foot  of  a  certain  mount, 
which  he  calls  Mole ;  and,  while  there  seated,  play- 
ing, as  he  tells  us,  upon  his  oaten  reed,  he  was  visited 
by  a  "  strange  shepherd  "  (line  60). 

Here  we  must  draw  slightly  upon  the  reader's 
concessions;  for  we  understand  by  this  "strange 
shepherd  "  what  we  must  for  the  present  call — and 
we  pray  the  reader  not  to  be  startled — this  strange 
shepherd  we  must  call,  we  say,  the  Spirit  of  Truth ; 
or  if  the  reader  chooses  to  imagine  an  intervening 


62  COLIN   CLOUTS  [CHAP.  a. 

visitant,  he  may  be  likened  to  the  Orphan  Boy  in 
the  story  of  the  Red  Book  of  Appin. 

He  calls  himself  the  Shepherd  of  the  Ocean  (line 
66),  in  answer  to  a  question  by  Colin;  and  the 
Ocean  referred  to  is  the  great  Ocean  of  Life,  out  of 
which  there  comes  to  some  favored  mortals,  from 
time  to  time,  a  certain  spirit,  here  personified  as  a 
Strange  Shepherd. 

The  reader  is  now  expected  to  notice  that  the 
HONEST  shepherd  has  drawn  to  himself,  as  it  were, 
a  SENSE  of  the  great  harmony  with  whom,  or  with 
which,  as  the  reader  pleases,  a  spirit -friendship 
is  formed.  The  unity  of  the  two  in  spirit  is  poeti- 
cally discovered  and  described  in  the  lines  from 
68  to  79 : 

He  piped,  [says  Colin,]  I  sung; 
And  when  he  sung,  I  pipedj 
Neither  envying  the  other  nor  envied. 

In  one  word,  the  HONEST  man  has  discovered 
a  principle  in  himself,  the  nature  of  which  becomes 
so  far  disclosed  as  to  bring  to  the  shepherd  a  pro- 
found conviction  of  its  similitude  to  the  true  good  in 
life,  and  this  produces  in  the  mind  of  the  man  a 


CHAP,  ii.]  INTERPRETED.  63 

certain  impulse  which,  personified,  is  represented  as 
an  invitation  to  leave  the  "waste"  into  which  he 
had  been  led  by  his  association,  as  we  shall  soon  see, 
with  a  stream,  the  Bregog  by  name. 

But  Cuddy  steps  in  (line  81),  and  asks  Colin  the 
burden  of  the  song  which  had  attracted  the  strange 
shepherd ;  and  that,  it  appears,  "  referred  "  to  the 
river  Bregog,  just  named  (line  92) — and  here  we 
must  anticipate  the  story  so  far  as  to  say,  that  the 
river  Bregog  signifies  the  false,  as  the  poem  will 
presently  show  us ;  and  we  must  observe  further, 
that,  in  the  story  about  to  be  told  by  Colin,  there 
are  two  streams,  described  as  at  the  foot  pf  Old 
Mole,  one  named  the  "  Mulla,"  and  the  other  this 
"false"  river  Bregog. 

These  two  streams  figure  the  true  and  \\\Q  false 
in  life.  We  shall  not  err  if  we  consider  them  as  rep- 
resenting in  the  nature  of  MAN — his  nature  partaking 
of  both — God  and  the  world:  they  are  called  in 
Scripture  God  and  Balaam,  and  man  is  required  to 
"  choose "  which  he  will  follow,  as  in  Joshua  xxiv. 
15.  They  are  likewise  called  life  and  death,  between 
which  man  is  also  required  to  chopse,  as  in  Deut. 
xxx.  19. 

It  must  be  noticed,  that  when  Colin  consents  to 


64  COLIN   CLOUTS  [CHAP.  ir. 

tell  the  burden  of  his  song,  he  warns  his  hearers 
(line  103)  that  he  is  about  to  tell 

No  leasing  [or  lying]  new,  nor  grandame's  fable  stale, 
But  ancient  Truth,  confirmed  with  credence  old. 

Then  follows  the  introductory  story,  from  line 
104  to  155,  which  should  be  looked  at  with  care ;  for 
it  is  a  mystical  account  of  the  birth  of  man,  substan- 
tially according  to  the  "  ancient  Truth  "  in  Genesis. 
We  say  substantially ;  because  it  is  not  pretended 
that  the  poet  has  attempted  to  adhere  literally  to  the 
ancient  record,  as  that  would  not  have  answered  the 
Hermetic  purpose  of  the  figurative  version  in  the 
poem. 

The  expression  "  Old  Mole  "  is  clearly  figurative, 
and  has  several  significations,  according  to  the  con- 
ditions or  requirements  of  the  poem.  It  is  a  figure 
for  Nature  as  the  mother  of  all  things,  and  figures 
also  the  father,  who  becomes  visible  in  a  mystic 
sense  in  the  mother. 

OLD  MOLE, 

we  see,  had  a  daughter  "fresh  as  flower  of  May" 
(line  106) ;  and  this  is  a  figure  for  life — fresh  young 
life — compared  to  a  river,  the  Mulla. 


CHAP,  ii.]  INTERPRETED.  65 

She  is  called  a  Nymph,  and  is  said  to  give  her 
name  to  the  "  pleasant  vale  "  at  the  foot  of  Old  Mole ; 
and  the  vale  is  said  to  be  "  pleasant,"  to  indicate  a 
characteristic  of  the  morning  of  life. 

But  this  stream  is  described  as  running  to  a  city 
(line  113)  called  Kilnemullah, 

Whose  ragged  ruins  breed  great  ruth  and  pity 
To  travellers,  which  it  from  far  behold. 

The  city  of  Kilnemullah  and  its  "ragged  and 
pitiable  "  condition  indicates  the  fate  or  destination 
of  multitudes  who  turn  aside  from  "  the  strait  and 
narrow  way  "  into  the  broad  road,  which  the  Scripture 
tells  us  "  leadeth  to  destruction." 

The  poet  tells  us  that  Old  Mole  (in  line  120 
called  the  Old  Sire),  originally  designed  to  match 
the  nymph  with  Allo  or  Broadwater,  for  which  he 
wrought  so  well,  it  appears,  that  the  match  was  de- 
cided upon : 

The  dower  agreed,  the  day  assigned  plaine, 
The  place  appointed  where  it  should  be  done. 

In  these  lines  the  Allo,  or  Broadwater,  signifies 

7  7  O 

the  universal  life,  to  which  individual  life-streams,  in 
the  providence  of  God,  were  destined,  the  union 
being  compared  to  a  marriage,  as  it  is  in  Scripture. 


66  COLIN   CLOUTS  [CHAP.  n. 

The  "  dower  "  referred  to  (line  125),  is  eternal  life; 
the  "  day  "  for  entrance  upon  it,  is  the  day  of  death  ; 
and  the  "  place  "  for  the  final  consummation  of  the 
design  of  the  Old  Sire,  is  the  other  world. 

We  next  come  to  the  causes  of  the  unhappy  fate 
of  so  many  whose  lives  run  to  the  city  of  Kilnemul- 
lah,  where  the  ragged  and  desolate  ruins  are  seen. 

The  poet  tells  us  (line  116)  that  the  beautiful 
Nymph,  hight  [or  called]  Mulla, 


-  loved  and  was  beloved  full  faine 


Of  her  own  brother  river,  Bregog  hight, — 

so  called,  as  we  are  now  told,  because  of  the  deceit 
Which  he  with  Mulla  wrought  to  win  delight. 

It  may  seem  a  strange  flight  of  fancy,  except  to  a 
poet,  to  represent  two  rivers  as  loving  each  other ; 
but  the  figure  will  be  readily  recognized  when  we 
see  that  one  of  the  rivers  represents,  as  we  have 
said,  the  true,  and  the  other  the  false ;  and  that  they 
are  called  sister  and  brother;  by  which  it  will  be 
understood  that  the  two  streams  figure  but  one  life, 
in  which  two  principles  are  contained,  familiarly 
called  good  and  evil,  sometimes  soul  and  body,  and, 
in  symbolical  language,  sister  and  brother. 


CHAP,  ii.]  INTERPRETED.  67 

This  part  of  the  story  is  now  soon  told ;  for  we 
see  that  evil  assails  the  good,  or,  in  other  words,  courts 
and  persuades  it  even  to  the  point  of  bringing  about 
what  is  called  a  "wedding"  (line  131);  by  which 
we  are  to  understand  that  our  mother  Eve  is  here 
represented  as  fatally  eating  the  apple :  for,  we  re- 
peat, we  are  reading,  as  the  poet  warns  us  (line  103), 
not  a  modern  lie*  but  an  ancient  truth.  The  curious 
reader  may  find  this  intimated  in  Shakespeare's 
144th  Sonnet : 

"  Two  loves  I  have  of  comfort  and  despair, 
Which  like  two  spirits  do  suggest  me  still : 
The  better  angel  is  a  man  right  fair, 
The  worser  spirit  a  woman  colour' d  ill. 
To  win  me  soon  to  hell,  my  female  evil 
Tempteth  my  better  angel  from  my  side, 
And  would  corrupt  my  saint  to  be  a  devil, 
Wooing  his  purity  with  her  foul  pride." 

By  the  Allo,  or  Broadwater  (line  123),  we  are  to 
understand,  as  just  stated,  the  great  ocean  of  life,  to 
which  the  Mulla  was  originally  destined,  and  would 
have  happily  reached,  had  not  the  Nymph,  unfor- 
tunately, been  carried  into  Babylonish  captivity  by 
the  false,  the  "wily"  Bregog  (line  137)  ;  which 


68  COLIN    CLOUTS  [CHAP.  11. 

doubtless  had  the  very  nature  of  the  Serpent  in  the 
original  story. 

The  arts  of  this  enemy  of  mankind  are  character- 
istically described  (line  136,  &c.).  He  first  divides 
into  many  streams,  according  to  the  nature  of  the 
false,  unity  being  the  principle  and  property  of  the 
true  ;  and  then,  these  false  streams  are  described  as 
running  "  under  ground  " — it  being  the  property  of 
the  false  to  hate  the  light. 

Thus  matters  stand  until  a  certain  sense  of  'honesty , 
called  a  shepherd's  boy  (line  147)  brings  to  the 
knowledge  of  Old  Mole,  who  is  in  truth  the  man, 
the  microcosm  of  the  story,  in  whom  all  this  life  is 
dramatically  represented,  the  character  of  the  unfor- 
tunate marriage  of  the  true  with  the  false ;  where- 
upon Old  Mole  is  described  as  rolling  down  "  great 
stones."  (that  is,  solid  principles,)  by  which  the  false 
is  destroyed — this  being  its  proper  destiny. 

This  story,  the  reader  must  notice,  is  represented 
as  having  been  told  by  Colin  (himself  the  represen- 
tative man  in  the  story) >  to  the  Strange  Shepherd; 
and  when  the  character  of  this  shepherd  comes  to  be 
understood,  as  it  will  be  in  the  development  of  the 
poem,  it  will  be  seen  that  the  story  of  Colin  has  the 
nature  of  a  confession^-— a  true  confession- — 'uporl  which 


CHAP,  ii.]  INTERPRETED.  69 

account  the  Strange  Shepherd  is  said  to  be  attracted 
to  the  simple  but  honest  Colin. 

Through  this  confession  the  two  shepherds — two 
in  appearance,  though  in  fact  there  is  but  one — dis- 
cover their  intimate  relation  to  each  other  ;  or,  in 
other  words,  by  means  of  this  honest  confession, 
Colin  himself  discovers  something  of  the  nature  of 
truth,  and  of  its  similitude,  as  a  principle  developed 
in  himself,  to  a  certain  principle  of  Truth  recognized 
as  the  Spirit  of  universal  life. 

This  sense  of  the  unity  of  Truth  in  Colin  himself 
with  the  Spirit  of  Truth,  is,  in  short,  here  personified 
as  the  Strange  Shepherd,  so  called,  because  it  is  a 
new,  or  unaccustomed  sense  of  Truth  in  a  supreme 
degree. 

Colin  now  determines  to  "  follow  "  this  indication, 
as  John  follows  the  Lamb  in  the  Gospel  :  for  we 
must  keep  in  mind  that  we  are  reading  an  "  ancient 
truth." 

The  poet  gives  us  the  story  in  a  dramatic  form, 
and  for  his  purpose,  we  say,  he  personifies  the  Spirit 
of  Truth  as  a  Strange  Shepherd,  coming  from  the 
great  Ocean  (of  life)  ;  and  assigns  to  him  a  special 
office,  that  of  inviting  Colin  to  leave  the  "  waste  "  (or 
desert,  as  Isaiah  calls  it)  into  which  his  "  evil  com- 


70  COLIN   CLOUTS  [CHAP.  11. 

munk-ations  "  had  led  him,  and  that  of  persuading 
the  sufferer  to  go  with  him  to  see  his  queen. 

This  queen  we  name  with  some  hesitation,  because 
of  the  insufficiency  of  the  words  to  represent  her ; 
but  for  our  purposes  we  may  call  her  Truth  itself, 
or  Truth  and  Reason,  if  the  reader  chooses,  for  the 
two  will  be  found  together  bathing  in  the  mystic 
love-bath  ;  and  this  queen  is  also  the  Queen  of  the 
Fortunate  Isle,  in  the  poem  of  Borderie. 

As  we  intend  to  deal  openly  with  this  Hermetic 
poem,  we  say  that  this  invitation  to  leave  the 
"  waste  "  (line  183),  is  simply  at  first  an  impulse  in 
the  man  himself,  the  real  subject  of  the  story,  and 
makes  itself  felt  as  an  "  authoritative  conscience,"  as 
this  same  subject  is  presented  in  the  letter  of  Wil- 
helm  to  Natalia,  in  the  first  chapter  of  Meister's 
Travels. 

Here  we  have  what,  in  Scripture,  is  compared  to 
a  mustard-seed,  said  to  be  the  smallest  of  seeds ;  but 
its  character  in  Colin  Clouts  must  be  determined  by 
the  offices  attributed  to  the  Strange  Shepherd.  At 
proper  periods  in  the  development  of  the  story  it  will 
be  seen,  that  he  first  invites  Colin  to  leave  the 
"  waste"  into  which  an  evil  life  had  led  him  (1.  183). 


CHAP,  ii.j  INTERPRETED.  71 

To  wend  with  him  his  Cynthia  to  see. 

He  is  then  the  guide  in  the  ship  to  the  isle  (or 
spirit-land)  floating  amid  the  sea  (of  life,  line  273). 
After  reaching  the  isle,  he  continues  to  be  the  guide 
to  the  presence  of  Cynthia  (line  332,)  and  introduces 
Colin,  or  the  man  who  is  the  real  subject  of  the  story, 
to  the  Goddess,  "  enhancing  "  him  in  her  "  grace  " 
(line  359)  ;  and  above  all,  we  see  (lines  454-5)  that 
the  Queen  accepts  the  man,  not  on  account  of  his 
own  "  skill,"  or  merit,  but  solely  on  account  of  the 
merit  of  the  Strange  Shepherd  : 

Yet  found  I  liking  [or  acceptance,  as  the  poet  means]  in  her 

royal  mind, 
Not  for  my  skill,  but  for  that  shepherd's  sake. 

These,  with  other  indications,  show  very  clearly 
that,  by  the  Strange  Shepherd,  the  poet  has  design- 
edly personified  the  Immanuel  of  Scripture,  and  in 
the  poem  itself  has  given  us  the  doctrine  of  Chris- 
tianity, the  spirit  of  which  is  older  than  its  records, 
having,  in  truth,  the  perpetual  youth  and  summer 
which  some  poets  understand,  and  so  reverentially 
write  about,  as  a  "  lovely  boy,"  whose  mother  is  the 
Virgin-Queen,  the  mystic  "  Lady  "  of  so  many  reli- 
gious writers. 


72  COLIN    CLOUTS  [CRAP.  ir. 

There  is  a  recognized  truth  of  nature  in  that  part 
of  the  pcem  which  represents  the  Strange  Shepherd 
as  complaining  of  the 

Great  unkindnesse,  and  of  the  usage  hard 
Of  Cynthia  the  Ladie  of  the  Sea, 

(line  165)  :  for,  we  must  understand,  as  we  repeat, 
that  we  are  not,  in  fact,  reading  of  two  persons,  but 
rather  of  one  nature,  in  which  or  in  whom  a  sense  of 
present  suffering  is  not  always  accompanied  with  a 
sense  of  wilful  disobedience,  while  the  evil  is  never- 
theless a  suggesting  truth.  Hence,  while  the  man 
suffers,  he  may  not  altogether  feel  the  suffering  as 
just.  He  is  therefore  represented  as  complaining  of 
the  "  Ladie  of  the  Sea."  But  the  result  of  his  con- 
templations, which  are  represented  as  a  sort  of  dia- 
logue between  two,  and  this  again  as  an  exercise 
upon  their  "  pipes"  (line  178),  is  the  impulse,  as  we 
call  it,  to  follow  the  Strange  Shepherd,  under  the 
sense  of  his  representing  the  better  life,  where  the 
man  is  induced  to  hope  for  what  may  be  called  the 
higher  life ;  and  this,  in  truth,  is  the  very  principle  of 
good,  in  the  divine  nature,  which  is  thus  drawing  the 
man  to  Himself  (John  vi,  44). 

The  hopes  of  the  higher  life  take  the  form  of  tin* 


CHAP,  ii.]  INTERPRETED.  73 

persuasions  recorded  in  lines  187,  &c.,  to  which  we 
must  see  that  the  man  is  partly  inclined  by  his  sense 
of  the  "  waste  "  into  which  he  had  been  led  (line 
183).  Through  this  channel  the  man  comes  to  un- 
derstand the  angel-like  character  of  suffering  itself, 
as  an  instrument  of  good. 

It  is  an  argument  in  proof  of  Christianity  when 
we  see  that  its  records  admit  the  inference  of  a  cer- 
tain Spirit,  called  in  John's  Gospel  the  Spirit  of 
Truth  (John  xvi.  13),  which  may  then  be  represented 
in  a  purely  symbolical  form,  as  in  Colin  Clouts,  from 
which,  again,  the  same  Spirit  may  be  reproduced 
with  features  clearly  represented  in  the  Gospels. 
While  this  process  exhibits  the  unity  of  the  Spirit,  it 
demonstrates,  at  the  same  time,  its  universality  and 
independence ;  for,  as  seen  from  this  point  of  view, 
the  truth  must  be  recognized  as  having  no  relation 
to  time,  and  is  therefore  eternal. 

Those  who  require  a  more  immediate  appropri- 
ation or  possession  of  it,  while  in  the  body,  are  re- 
ferred to  Luke  ix.  24,  for  the  answer  of  the  Gospel. 

It  is  important  to  keep  in  mind  here,  that  Colin's 
introduction  to  the  Queen,  and  his  advancement  into 
her  "  grace,"  is  due  to  the  Strange  Shepherd,  line 
4 


74  COLIN   CLOUTS        '  [CHAP.  n. 

358 ;  and  that,  finally,  his  acceptance  is  secured 
solely  by  his  merits,  as  we  have  already  said, — this 
important  fact  being  stated  in  the  poem,  lines  454, 
455. 

We  do  not  propose  to  go  much  further  into 
detail,  but  will  make  a  few  running  comments  upon 
the  poem,  in  explanation  of  what  may  appear  to  be 
obscure  to  the  general  reader. 

The  ship  is  represented  as  bringing  into  view 
first  one  island  and  then  another,  as  if  sailing  to  the 
west  (line  271),  discovering  the  second  from  the 
first.  The  second  island  is  described  as  being 
guarded  by  "  mighty  white  rocks,"  which  protect 
it  against 

The  seas  encroaching  crueltie. 

The  critics  see  in  this  reference  to  white  rocks  a 
clear  allusion  to  England,  with  its  well-known  white 
clift's ;  and  this  has  doubtless  assisted  in  making  the 
interpretation  acceptable,  by  which  the  poem  is 
thought  to  have  been  an  account  of  a  visit  to  the 
English  Court,  according  to  a  note  already  recited. 
But  let  us  look  at  this  matter  a  little  more  closely. 

The  ship,  we  are  told,  reaches  the  first  island, 


CHAP,  ii.]  INTERPRETED.  75 

moving  westwardly.  By  the  geographical  position 
of  England  with  respect  to  Ireland,  this  first  dis- 
covered island  (if  England  and  Ireland  were  in- 
tended), should  have  been  described  with  the  well- 
known  chalky  cliffs  of  Dover.  But  this  is  not 
according  to  the  poem.  In  the  first  land  seen,  mov- 
ing to  the  west,  nothing  is  said  of  white  rocks ; 
while,  from  this  first  discovered  land,  another  island 
is  seen,  significantly  described  (line  273)  as 

Floating  amid  the  sea  in  jeopardie, 

and  this  second  island  is  that  which  is  described  as 
being  girt 

Round  about  with  mighty  white  rocks, 

as  if  to  guard  it 

Against  the  seas  encroaching  crueltie. 

What,  now,  are  these  two  islands,  assuredly 
not  answering,  in  the  description  of  them,  to  Eng- 
land and  Ireland;  for,  besides  that  the  second  and 
not  the  first  has  the  white  rocks^  in  what  respect  can 
either  of  them  be  said  to  be  in  "jeopardy,"  exposed 
to  the  sea's  "  cruelty  ?  " 

We  shall  understand  this  better  by  considering 


76  COLIN   CLOUTS  [CHAP.  n. 

that  the  poem  figures  a  man  in  the  body,  in  search 
of  the  true  life  under  the  guidance  of  a  mysterious 
Shepherd,  who  figures  the  Spirit  of  Truth.  Or, 
the  reader  may  the  more  readily  understand  the 
purpose  of  this  poem  by  considering  the  ship  as  the 
figure  of  man  in  the  body  in  search  of  the  true  life, 
under  the  guidance  of  the  Spirit  of  Christ,  having 
been  "  born  of  the  Spirit,"  according  to  John  iii.  8 ; 
for  the  man  is  represented  as  having  received  the 
Strange  Shepherd,  or  Spirit  of  Truth,  from — he 
knows  not  whence ;  and  he  follows  it — he  knows 
not  whither,  bound  to  it  only  by  what  may  be 
considered  faith — faith  in  God,  faith  in  Christ,  faith 
in  the  Spirit  of  Truth.  The  first  island  discovered, 
is  that  principle  which  by  some  is  called  the  soul, 
regarded  by  the  ancients  under  the  name  of  Demi- 
urgus,  as  the  fabricating  principle  of  the  body ;  an 
opinion  of  some  moderns  also — Swedenborg,  for 
example.  This  is  not  the  principle  of  life  itself, 
though  first  discovered  in  the  consciousness  in  what 
may  be  called  the  journey  of  life. 

We  are  only  here  pointing  out  what  appears  to 
have  been  the  theory  in  the  mind  of  the  poet,  with- 
out assuming  to  authorize  or  defend  it.  Nor  do  we 
intend  or  desire  to  assail  it,  as  such  a  purpose  is 


CHAP,  ii.]  INTERPRETED.  7  7 

not  within  the  scope  we  have  proposed  in  these 
remarks. 

The  first  island  being  discovered,  the  second 
becomes  visible  (spiritually) ;  and  this  is  designed  to 
figure  the  spirit  itself,  which  we  see  is  represented 
(line  273)  as  floating  (like  the  Spirit  of  Truth)  in  the 
midst  of  the  ocean  (of  life).  This  is  the  island  which 
the  poet  wishes  us  to  see,  as  being  exposed  to  the 
"  sea's  crueltie," — a  figure  for  the  world,  in  respect 
to  truth.  But  he  intimates,  nevertheless,  that  this 
sacred  island  is  guarded  by  "  mighty  white  rocks  ; " 
that  is,  by  wonderfully  mysterious  principles,  figured 
by  rocks,  to  indicate  their  strength,  and  said  to  be 
white,  to  indicate  their  purity;  for  God  has  not  com- 
mitted the  injustice  of  leaving  His  child  defenceless 
in  the  sea  of  life.  The  star  which  the  wise  men 
saw  has  been  and  still  is  under  Almighty  protec- 
tion, and  this  is  what  the  poet  intends  to  teach ; 
only  we  must  concede  to  him  the  liberty  of  a  poetic 
treatment  of  the  subject.  And  now  we  may  observe 
that  the  man  has  reached  Cynthia's  land  (line  289)  ; 
that  is,  he  is  in  Arcadia,  or  in  the  Isle  of  Borderie's 
poem,  said  to  be  "full  of  good  things." 

But  Cuddy,  or  the  every-day,  careless  reader, 
knowing  little  or  nothing  of  this  land,  asks  Colin : 


78  COLIN   CLOUTS  [CHAP.  n. 

What  land  is  that  thou  meanest, 
And  is  there  other  than  this  whereon  we  stand  ? 

To  whom  the  poet  answers  nearly  in  the  lan- 
guage of  Hamlet  after  having  seen  his  father's 
ghost : 

Ah,  Cuddy,  thou  art  a  fon  [a  fool], 
That  hast  not  seen  the  least  part  of  Nature's  work; 
For  that  same  land  1  is  much  larger  than  this  : 

And  this  may  very  well  be  admitted,  when  we 
are  quite  unable  to  conceive  any  limits  to  it.  And 
then  Cuddy  asks  also  as  to  the  heaven  of  the  land ; 
and  is  answered  (line  308,  &c.),  almost  in  the  lan- 
guage of  the  poet  of  the  Fortunate  Isle : 

Both  heaven  and  heavenly  graces  do  much  more 

(Quoth  he)  abound  hi  that  same  land  than  this. 

For  there  all  happy  peace  and  plenteous  store 

Conspire  in  one  to  make  contented  bliss  : 

No  wailing  there,  nor  wretchedness  is  heard, 

No  bloody  issues  nor  no  leprosies, 

No  grisly  famine,  nor  no  raging  sword, 

No  nightly  bodrags 2  nor  no  hue  and  cries  ; 

The  shepherds  there  abroad  safely  lie> 

On  hills  and  downs,  withouten  dread  or  danger : 

1  The  Spirit-land,  or  Arcadia.  2  Raiding 


OHAF.  ii.]  INTERPEETED.  79 

No  ravenous  wolves  the  good  man's  hope  destroy, 

No  outlaws  fell  affright,  the  forest  ranger. 

There  learned  arts  do  flourish  in  great  honor, 

And  poets'  wits  are  had  in  peerless  price  : 

Religion  hath  lay  power  to  rest  upon  her, 

Advancing  virtue  and  suppressing  vice. 

For  end  [or,  finally],  all  good,  all  grace,  there  freely  grows, 

Had  people  grace  it  gratefully  to  use  ; 

For  God  his  gifts  there  plenteously  bestows, 

But  graceless  men  them  greatly  do  abuse. 

After  reading  this  description,  it  is  easy  to  judge 
how  far  the  condition  of  England  in  the  reign  of 
Queen  Elizabeth  may  be  supposed  to  have  been  in 
the  eye  of  the  poet,  who  must  rather  be  supposed  to 
have  had  in  view  the  "  Fortunate  Isle,"  which  is 
said  to  be 

"  Full  of  good  things  ;   fruits  and  trees 
And  pleasant  verdure  ;   a  very  master-piece 
Of  Nature's  ;   where  the  men  immortally 
Live,  following  all  delights  and  pleasures." 

If  the  reader  still  has  any  doubt  on  the  subject, 
let  him  mark  the  description  of  the  Queen,  the 

Arcadian  Queen,  beginning  at  line  330  : 

i 
Forth  on  our  voyage  we  by  land  did  pass, 

(Quoth  he)  as  that  same  shepherd  still  us  guided. 


80  COLIN    CLOUTS    INTERPRETED.  [CHAP,  n. 

The  reader  should  by  no  means  lose  sight  of  the 
statement  that  the  man  continues  upon  the  journey 
under  the  guidance  of  that  same  Strange  Shepherd, 
by  whom  he  was  first  persuaded  to  leave  the 
"  waste  "  or  desert  where  the  two  shepherds  met 
each  other,  which  surely  was  the  figurative  Egypt : 

Forth  on  our  voyage  we  by  land  did  pass, 
As  that  same  shepherd  still  us  guided, 
Until  we  to  Cynthia's  presence  came  : 
Whose  glory,  greater  than  my  simple  thought, 
I  found  much  greater  than  the  former  fame  ; 
Such  greatness  I  cannot  compare  to  aught ; 
But  if  I  her  like  aught  on  earth  might  read, 
I  would  liken  her  to  a  crown  of  lilies, 
Upon  a  virgin  bride's  adorned  head, 
With  roses  dight,  and  goolds  and  daffodillies; 
Or  like  the  circlet  of  a  turtle  true 
In  which  all  colours  of  the  rainbow  be  ; 
Or  like  Phoebe's  garland  shining  new, 
In  which  all  pure  perfection  one  may  see. 
But  vain  it  is  to  think,  by  paragone 
Of  earthly  things,  to  judge  of  things  divine  : 
Her  power,  her  mercy,  and  her  wisdom,  none 
Can  deem,  but  who  the  Godhead  can  define. 
Why  then  do  I,  base  shepherd,  bold  and  blind, 
Presume  the  things  so  sacred  to  profane  ? 
More  fit  it  is  t'  adore,  with  humble  mind, 
The  ima.Ece  of  the  heavens  in  shape  humane. 


CHAPTER  m. 

WE  regard  it  as  a  mistake  to  teach  that  man 
passes  suddenly  from  a  conformity  with,  not  to  say 
a  love  of,  the  world,  to  the  fruition  of  the  opposite 
state,  that  of  devotion  to  truth  and  goodness.  The 
impulse  to  undertake  a  divine  life  is  doubtless  in- 
stantaneous, and  is  often  compared  to  the  discovery 
of  a  light,  as  if  seen  from  dense  woods  in  which  the 
man  has  been  lost.  This  light,  or  the  discovery  of  it, 
may  be  figured  as  a  mustard-seed,  the  seed  of  a  new 
life;  but  the  end  is  not  yet.  The  seeker,  on  the 
contrary,  may  have  a  long  and  often  a  weary  road  of 
research  to  travel ;  and  we  take  this  occasion  to  say 
that,  in  the  case  of  Colin,  that  is.  of  Spenser,  the 
poet  of  the  Faerie  Queen,  that  research  is  repre- 
sented in  the  Amoretti  Sonnets,  which  were  not 
addressed,  as  generally  supposed,  to  a  particular 
lady,  whom  Spenser  is  said  to  have  subsequently 
married.  When  those  Sonnets  begin  to  be  under- 


82  COLIN   CLOUTS  [CHAP.  in. 

stood,  the  absurdity  of  treating  them  as  love-sonnets, 
in  the  popular  sense  of  the  expression,  will  become 
very  apparent.  They  are  indeed  love-sonnets,  and 
are  properly  named  according  to  the  theory  of  the 
time ;  but  the  object  of  the  love  is  the  mystical  di- 
vinity of  the  poets,  as  we  may  show  at  another 
time.  We  merely  observe  now,  that  the  poet  does 
not,  at  the  outset,  understand  definitely  the  object  he 
is  in  search  of.  He  is  impelled,  by  a  sort  of  divine 
faith  in  the  Strange  Shepherd,  to  seek  the  mystic 
queen,  as  represented  in  Colin  Clouts,  in  lines  192, 
<fcc. : 

So  what  with  hope  of  good  and  hate  of  ill, 
He  me  persuaded  forth  with  him  to  fare. 

That  the  man  takes  with  him,  in  following  the 
Strange  Shepherd,  only  his  "oaten  quill"  (line  194), 
contains  an  important  hint,  that  the  search  after  the 
true  life  is  something  peculiarly  individual ;  for,  in 
one  word,  in  the  presence  of  God  every  soul  ulti- 
mately becomes  its  own  judge  of  itself,  through  its 
own  spirit,  which  in  this  poem  is  figured  by  the 
•oaten  quill ;  and  it  is  so  figured  because  the  soul  is 
in  some  sort  a  musical  instrument,  which  only  needs 
to  be  properly  tuned,  or  attuned  to  the  divine  bar- 


CHAP,  in.]  INTERPRETED.  80 

mony,  to   find  itself  in   unison  with   the   Spirit  of 
Truth,  the  Strange  Shepherd  of  the  poem. 

We  lose  much  of  the  truth  and  beauty  of  the 
Psalms  when  we  think  of  King  David  as  actually 
seated  at  a  harjp.  It  is  possible,  indeed,  that  a  King 
may  have  some  skill  in  the  mechanical  use  of  an 
actual  musical  instrument ;  but  this  would  be  of 
little  importance  in  the  case  of  David,  or  in  our 
thought  of  him,  if  we  did  not  understand  that  his 
soul  was  his  real  harp,  in  such  wise  as  that  the  ex- 
pressions, "  awake  my  harp,"  and  "  awake  my  spirit," 
signify  the  same  thing. 

The  "  sea "  upon  which  Colin  is  about  to  set 
forth  is  the  Sea  of  Life,  where  the  waters  are  said 
(line  197) 

*     *        to  be  heaped  u  )  on  high, 
Rolling  like  mountains  in  wide  wilderness, 
Horrible,  hideous,  and  roaring  with  hoarse  cry. 

To  see  the  force  of  this  similitude  may  require 
an  experience  of  some  years  in  the  world,  for  Byron 
tells  us  that  we  know  nothing  of  it  while  "  youth's 
hot  blood  runs  in  our  veins."  Hence  it  comes  that 
youth  is  well  represented  (lino  216),  as  a  ship  of 


84  COLIN   CLOUTS  [CHAP.  in. 

wooden  frame  and  frail, 
Glewed  together  with  some  subtle  matter, 

yet  fitted  up  with 

arms  and  wings  and  head  and  tail, 
And  life  to  move  itself  upon  the  water: 
Strange  thing!  how  bold  and  swift  the  monster  is, 
That  cares  not  for  wind,  nor  hail,  nor  rain, 
Nor  swelling  waves,  but  through  them  did  pass 
So  proudly  that  she  made  them  roar  again. 

Such,  indeed,  is  a  fair  description  of  the  frail  but 
proud  barque  in  which  every  soul  sets  out  upon  the 
journey  of  life,  freighted  with  a  heavenly  treasure, 
exposed  to  numberless  accidents ;  for  the  ship  is  said 
(line  202)  to  encounter  wild  beasts 

with  deep  mouths  gaping  direful 
In  wait  poor  passengers  to  tear. 

The  poet  has  well  described  the  natural  man  in 
early  life  (line  220)  as  bold  and  fearless ;  though 
this  proceeds  from  an  ignorance  of  danger,  and  not 
from  courage  derived  from  an  insight  into  the  re- 
sponsibilities of  life,  or  a  knowledge  of  what  are 
often  called  the  shoals  and  quicksands  of  life,  which 
is  poetically  called  a  sea. 


CHAP,  in.]  INTERPRETED.  85 

The  ship,  that  is,  the  man,  is  represented  as 
losing  sight  of  the  land,  "  our  mother"  (line  226), 
which  may  be  understood  as  nature-land,  (or  the 
natural  man,)  being  now  under  the  guidance  of  the 
Strange  Shepherd,  who  is  leading  the  man  to 
another  and  a  better  life ;  and  this  better  life  must 
be  understood  as  the  Arcadia.  It  is  to  be  reached 
only  by  means  of  a  certain  guide,  who  is  described 
in  a  mystical  book,  quite  out  of  print  or  circulation, 
as  having  a  most  singular  nature.  He  is  expressly 
called  a  guide,  and  the  mystic  writer  says : 

"  You  must  know  how  to  please  him,  that  he 
may  be  the  more  willing  to  go  along  with  you  in 
the  right  way,  and  not  leave  you  as  he  hath  done 
some,  nor  mislead  you  as  he  hath  done  others,  when 
they  have  attempted  this  journey  with  fair  success 
in  the  knowledge  of  matters  requisite — have  not- 
withstanding fatally  erred, — not  knowing  how  to 
please  their  guide  who  hath  a  humor  of  his  own  not 
to  be  equalled  in  the  world ;  and  if  you  make  him 
either  sullen  or  choleric,  you  may  as  well  give  over 
the  enterprise.  First  of  all,  then,  know  that  for  his 
part  he  is  a  very  stupid  fool ;  there  is  none  more 
simple  among  all  his  brethren ;  yet  he  is  most 
faithful  to*  his  Lord,  and  doth  all  things  for  him 


86  COLIN   CLOUTS  [CHAP.  in. 

most  prudently,  ordering  all  things  in  the  family 
very  discreetly ; — which  I  may  rather  ascribe  to  a 
natural  instinct,  than  to  any  quickness  of  parts. 
He  is  very  faithful ;  for  which  cause  he  will  never 
either  ask  or  answer  any  question,  but  goes  on  his 
way  silently ;  nor  will  he  ever  go  before  you,  but 
follow,  [in  this  particular  answering  exactly  to  the 
Daemon  of  Socrates.]  By  his  countenance  you 
shall  know  whether  he  be  pleased  or  displeased; 
therefore  lay  bonds  on  him;  that  is,  shut  him  close 
where  he  may  not  get  forth :  then  go  before  with 
heat  [i.  e.  with  life  or  spirit],  and  be  ever  watchful 
of  his  countenance  as  he  follows:  his  anger  you 
shall  know  by  redness  in  his  countenance ;  and  his 
sullenness  by  his  lumpish  behavior:  and  so  you 
shall  pass  forward,  or  turn,  or  go  back,  as  you  see 
his  countenance  and  temper  inclined." 

Here  we  have  a  description  of  the  mysterious 
visitor,  called  a  Strange  Shepherd,  who  came  to 
"Colin"  from  the  "main-sea  deep"  (line  67),  who, 
though  speechless,  is  dramatically  represented  as 
talking  with  Colin,  though,  in  truth,  he  speaks  only 
in  him :  and  if  the  reader  does  not  by  this  time  un- 
derstand who  this  personage  is,  it  is  to  be  feared  he 
may  not  very  soon  become  acquainted*  with  the 


CHAP,  in.]  INTERPRETED.  87 

queen  in  whose  service  he  is,  for  here  the  queen  is 
his  "Lord"  no  less. 

The  reader  can  surely  now  judge  how  far  the 
description  of  Queen  Cynthia  can  with  any  pro- 
priety be  applied  to  the  "  Vixen  Queen "  of  Eng- 
land, as  described  by  Mrs.  Jameson  in  her  Loves  of 
the  Poets.  It  is  impossible  to  discover  the  smallest 
resemblance,  the  difference  being  beyond  all  the  lib- 
erty which  the  greatest  license  can  allow  the  most 
subservient  poet,  however  much  disposed  to  flatter 
and  exalt  the  maiden  queen,  who  was  more  than 
sufficiently  honored  by  Shakespeare  when  he  permit- 
ted her  to  walk  in  "  maiden  meditation,  fancy  free." 

Mrs.  Jameson,  after  stating,  indeed,  that  there 
was  something  extremely  poetical  in  the  situation 
of  Elizabeth  as  a  maiden  queen,  raised  from  a 
prison  to  a  throne,  says  that  "  for  the  woman  her- 
self, as  a  woman,  with  her  pedantry  and  her 
absurd  affection,  her  masculine  temper  and  coarse 
insolence,  her  sharp,  shrewish,  cat-like  face,  and  her 
pretension  to  beauty,  it  is  impossible  to  conceive 
anything  more  anti-poetical."  And  she  disposes  of 
this  queen  by  telling  us  of  her  dying,  "  at  last, 
on  her  palace-floor,  like  a  crushed  wasp,  sick  of  her 
own  very  selfishness  ;  torpid,  sullen,  despairing ; 


88  COLIN   CLOUTS  [CHAP.  in. 

without  one  friend  near  her,  without  one  heart 
in  the  wide  world  attached  to  her  by  affection 
or  gratitude." 

Who  can  see  any  likeness  in  this  picture  to 
that  of  Queen  Cynthia  in  the  poem  of  Spenser  ? 

What  stupidity  is  this  which  encumbers  this 
sweet  pastoral  with  notes,  gravely  setting  forth  the 
opinion,  as  if  it  could  not  be  controverted,  that  it 
was  designed  to  give  an  account  of  a  visit  of  the 
poet  to  the  Court  of  England,  and  of  his  introduc- 
tion to  Queen  Elizabeth;  when,  too,  especially,  we 
see  him  exhausting  the  power  of  language  (line  590, 
&c.),  in  speaking  of  the  benefits  conferred  upon  him 
by  the  queen,  whilst  we  know  from  history  that 
Spenser,  of  all  men,  has  described  most  vividly  the 
horrors  of  a  life  spent  in  hopeless  attendance  upon 
the  English  Court,  whence  he  derived  no  benefit 
worth  acknowledging.1  What  has  become  of  the 
taste  of  critics,  retrospective  reviews,  &c.,  when 
such  perversions  are  not  at  once  discountenanced 

1  In  Mother  Hubbard's  Tale,  Spenser  records  his  estimate 
of  what  he  received  at  Court : 


\ 


'  Full  little  knowest  thou,  that  hast  not  tried, 
What  hell  it  is  in   suing  long  to  bide,"  &c. 


CHAP,  in.]  INTERPRETED.  89 

and  thrust  ignominious ly  out  of  the  Arcadian  land 
of  beauty  and  poesy  ?  Perhaps  we  ought  to  say, 
indeed,  that  they  are  banished  from  the  true  Ar- 
cadia, which  was  by  no  means  the  English  Court  in 
the  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth :  and  now  we  will 
proceed  with  our  remarks. 

While  the  poet  is  in  the  spirit-land,  as  Sweden- 
borg  says  of  himself  when  in  what  he  calls  the 
spiritual  world,  he  is  not  out  of  himself;  but  he 
sees,  on  the  contrary,  from  his  spiritual  elevation, 
the  actual  poets  of  his  day,  whom  he  briefly  charac- 
terizes from  line  381,  calling  them  shepherds 

In  the  faithful  service  of  fair  Cynthia. 

This  signifies  that  poets,  however  far  short  they 
come  of  a  true  sense  of  the  art,  must  be  considered, 
nevertheless,  as  aiming  at  the  highest;  and  this  is 
to  do  honor  to  Cynthia,  the  symbol  of  the  highest, 
— very  much  as  we  must  say,  unless  blinded  by 
bigotry,  that  all  religionists  aim  to  honor  God  in 
their  religious  services.  God  is  the  idea,  or  the 
object,  of  the  religious  affection,  though  obscured, 
it  may  be,  by  intervening  clouds  of  the  imagina- 


90  COLIN   CLOUTS  [CHAP,  in 

tion,  working  through  that  "muddy  vesture  of 
decay  "  which  Shakespeare  calls,  in  the  44th  Sonnet, 
the  "  dull  substance  of  the  flesh." 

It  is  remarkable  that,  in  Spenser's  commenda- 
tions of  the  poets  of  his  day,  while  he  eulogizes 
Daniell  by  name,  we  catch  no  allusion  to  the 
greatest  uninspired  bard  that  ever  appeared  on 
earth,  and  who  was  then  living.  It  is  possible  that, 
when  Colin  Clouts  was  written,  Shakespeare  had  not 
made  himself  known  as  a  poet.  Spenser  is  ex- 
pressly named  by  Shakespeare  in  the  8th  Sonnet  of 
the  Passionate  Pilgrim,  as  having  "  so  deep  a 
conceit  as  passed  all  conceit ; "  and  he  was  undoubt- 
edly alluded  to  in  Shakespeare's  Sonnet  86,  in  the 
13th  line  of  which  we  see  a  reference  to  the  success 
of  Spenser  in  exhibiting  in  his  poems,  perhaps  in 
this  very  poem  of  Colin  Clouts,  what  Shakespeare 
calls  the  "  countenance  "  of  their  common  love,  that 
of  Queen  Cynthia ;  for,  in  the  land  of  Arcadia  the 
Queen  is  no  less  a  King, — as  may  be  seen  in  the 
poem  under  examination. 

It  is  remarkable,  also,  that  the  high  praise  given 
to  the  work  of  a  poet  said  to  have  had  the  name  of 
Alabaster,  does  not  appear  to  have  been  sufficient 


CHAP,  in.]  INTERPRETED.  91 

to  bring  the  poem  into  light  from  its  hiding-place 
among  the  MSS.  of  Emmanuel  College,  Cambridge. 

We  observe  next,  that  while  the  poet  sees  the 
veritable  poets  of  his  day,  he  figures  by  women 
the  higher  principles  of  spiritual  life — the  muses  and 
the  graces ;  though  not  by  their  usual  names,  ex- 
cept that  he  begins  with  Urania,  or  heaven  itself 
(line  487),  said  to  be  the  sister  of  Astrofell.  And 
here  the  reader  must  consider  that  all  spiritual 
principles,  as  making  a  perfect  harmony,  are  of  one 
accord,  and  are  each  entitled  to  the  same  honor. 
Hence,  besides  Urania, 

In  whose  brave  mind,  as  in  a  golden  coffer, 
All  heavenly  gifts  and  riches  locked  are, 
More  rich  than  pearls  of  Inde,  or  gold  of  Opher, 
And  in  her  sex  more  wonderful  and  rare, 

there  are  Theana  and  many  more,  to  whom  the 
poet  says  in  each  case  "  no  less  "  honor  is  due.  It 
is  not  without  a  purpose  that,  while  the  differences 
among  the  poets,  their  jealousies  and  rivalries,  are 
fully  recorded  and  brought  into  view  (line  665),  the 
women  are  represented  as  "  no  less  praiseworthy " 
than  the  best ;  for  in  Arcadia  they  are  all  good 


92  COLIN   CLOUTS  [CHAP.  HI. 

alike,  all  being  equally  in  the  service  of  Queen 
Cynthia,  whose  court  is  Urania,  or  heaven  itself. 

The  reference  to  the  jealousies  and  rivalries  of 
the  poets  in  Arcadia  must  explain  the  reason  why 
Colin  left  that  sweet  place,  and  came  "  home  again." 
In  the  first  place,  the  poet,  when  in  Arcadia,  as  we 
have  already  said,  is  not  out  of  himself,  and  lives, 
while  in  the  body,  under  the  laws  of  physical  life  in 
common  with  others  whose  contentions  disturb  the 
peace  of  what  otherwise  would  be  a  realization  of 
the  poet's  vision.  This  is  what  is  said  to  have 
brought  him  back  again  to  earth. 

In  line  613  we  fall  upon  the  expression,  "the 
cradle  of  her  own  creation,"  upon  which  the  Queen 
is  said  to  look  with  "  high  aspiring  thought."  What 
<f  creation  "  is  this,  but  that  of  the  poet  himself,  as  a 
poet,  seeing  himself  in  Arcadia,  from  whence,  his 
lofty  dome  of  thought,  he  is  supposed  to  look  down 
upon  his  own  bright  creations  ?  —  for  the  poet's 
creations  have  a  kind  of  life  in  them,  and  are  often 
seen  in  their  entirety  during  whole  years,  without 
being  written,  and  without  losing  a  word  of  their 
unity. 

A  genuine  poet  often  sees  his  poetic  creation, 
very  much  as  a  mathematician  sees  his  problem, 


CHAP,  in.]  INTERPRETED.  93 

with  its  complete  demonstration  in  its  totality  ;  and 
when  a  poem  is  thus  seen  in  the  spirit-light,  it  is 
what  a  poet  has  called  a  "  thing  of  beauty,"  and  is 
said  to  be  a  "joy  forever." 

Colin's  praises  of  the  women  finally  leads  Ag- 
laura  (line  584),  to  ask  for  a  more  distinct  account 
of  the  favors  bestowed  upon  the  poet  by  the  Queen 
herself,  which  brings  an  answer,  from  line  590 ;  and 
this  is  so  much  beyond  the  conception  of  Cuddy  that 
he  thinks  Colin  quite  beside  himself.  But  Colin  in- 
terposes, in  his  defence : 

True  [says  he],  but  her  great  excellence 
Lifts  me  above  the  measure  of  my  might; 
That,  being  filled  with  furious  insolence, 
I  feel  myself  like  one  yrapt  in  spright. 
For  when  I  think  of  her,  as  oft  I  ought, 
Then  want  I  words  to  speak  it  fitly  forth : 
And  when  I  speak  of  her  what  I  have  thought, 
I  cannot  think  according  to  her  worth. 
Yet  will  I  think  of  her,  yet  will  I  speake, 
So  long  as  life  my  limbs  doth  hold  together ; 
And  when  as  death  these  vital  bands  shall  breake, 
Her  name  recorded  I  will  leave  forever. 

This  is  what  all,  or  nearly  all,  of  the  poets  say, 
Daniel,  Carew,  Dray  ton,  Cowley ;  and  above  all 


94  COLIN   CLOUTS  [ 


CHAP.  III. 


Shakespeare  himself,  as  may  be  seen  in  numerous 
Sonnets,  18,  19,  55,  60,  63,  65,  74,  81,  100,  101,  107. 
The  reader  may  find  the  same  prediction  of  immor- 
tality in  Spenser's  Sonnets,  27,  69,  and  75. 

The  poets,  writing  in  the  belief  that  their  inspi- 
ration is  from  an  eternal  fountain,  readily  fall  into 
the  delusion  that  their  poems  will  live  forever,  Ovid 
himself  making  this  prediction  for  his  own  poems. 

Hence  Colin,  that  is,  Spenser,  says  (line  640) : 

Long  while  after  I  am  dead  and  rotten, 
Amongst  the  shepherds'  daughters  dancing  round, 
My  lays  MADE  OP  HER  shall  not  be  forgotten, 
But  sung  by  them  with  flowery  garlands  crowned. 

The  lays  made  of  her  signify  the  poems  made 
of  nature,  or  under  the  direct  inspiration  of  nature, 
as  seen  in  the  poet's  Arcadia,  where  there  is  one 
principle  of  truth  and  beauty  recognized  and  hon- 
ored as  the  Queen  under  the  name  of  Cynthia. 

This  is  the  Queen  whom  Drayton  goes  in  "  quest 
of,"  amidst  trees  and  flowers,  with  melodious  birds 
to  lead  him  on,  until  he  finally  discovers  her,  and 
finds  himself  accepted,  when  he  concludes : 

"By  Cynthia  thus  do  I  subsist, 
On  earth  heaven's  only  pride, 


CHAP,  in.]  INTERPRETED.  95 

Let  her  be  mine,  and  let  who  list 
Take  all  the  world  beside." 

This  is,  in  truth,  the  burthen  of  Spenser's  first 
Amoretti  Sonnet,  addressed,  not  to  any  particular 
lady,  but  to  the  Queen  of  Arcadia,  the  mystical 
object  of  the  entire  series. 

"  Leaves,  lines  and  rhymes  [says  he]  seek  her   to   please   alone, 
Whom  if  ye  please,  I  care  for  others  none." 

Happy  rhymes !  said  the  poet,  "  bathed  in  the 
sacred  brook  of  Helicon,  whence  she  derived  is" 
— the  lady  addressed  being  the  poetic  queen — 
called  in  Shakespeare's  Sonnets  the  "  beautiful 
mother"  (Sonnet  3)  of  a  "lovely  boy"  (Sonnet 
108),  whose  approbation  alone  he  sought  (Sonnet 
112),  absolutely  insensible  to  "critic  and  to  flat- 
terer." 

But  this  sort  of  study  is  called  by  Colin  (line 
703)  the  "  arts  of  school,"  which  are  said  to  have, 
in  the  world, 

small  countenance, 
and  are 

counted  as  but  toys  to  busy  idle  brains, 
has  resulted  perhaps  not   so  much   from   the 


Oo  COLIN   CLOUTS  [CHAP.  in. 

study  itself,  as  from  the  meagre  results  manifested 
in  so  many,  who  have  wasted  their  lives  in  fruitless 
efforts,  where  the  Strange  Shepherd  has  not  been 
fallen  in  with  ;  or,  when  discovered — and  this  is  fur 
worse — has  not  been  duly  obeyed. 

The  chief  causes,  however,  of  the  low  estim^e 
in  the  world  of  what  Spenser  calls  the  Arts  of 
School,  meaning  true  learning,  are,  first,  the  absence 
of  a  taste  for  it ;  as,  in  the  case  of  music,  a  taste 
being  wanting,  all  effort  at  learning  is  necessarily  a, 
labor  without  commensurate  progress ;  and,  sec- 
ondly, arts  are  valued  in  the  world  chiefly  for  their 
material  products,  as  instruments  of  gain  (line  706)  ; 
or,  as  the  poet  tells  us  (line  711),  the  worth  of  man 
is  measured  by  his  "  weed,"  that  is,  by  his  outside. 

As  harts  by  horns  and  asses  by  their  ears. 

But  the  true  poet,  or  artist,  sees  the  value  of  his 
art  principally  in  the  art  itself,  very  much  as  a  dev- 
otee regards  his  faith,  and  prizes  it  far  beyond  any- 
thing which  money  can  purchase,  or  which,  what 
is  contemptuously  called  worldly  dross  can  mea- 
sure ;  while  we  see  it  intimated  that  true  art  is  ac- 
cessible to  its  true  "Lover"  without  monev  and 


CHAP,  in.]  INTERPRETED.  97 

without  price,  but  under  the  condition  of  acknowl- 
edging it  as  the  gift  of  God. 

We  must  not  omit  to  say,  in  this  notice,  that 
whereas  Shakespeare,  in  his  20th  Sonnet,  has  indi- 
cated the  object  of  his  love  as  of  a  double  nature, 
or  two  natures  in  one,  in  Colin  Clouts  we  encounter 
the  same  description  in  lines  from  799,  where 
the  object  is  said  to  have  been 

Born  without  sire,  or  couples  of  one  kind; 

For,  Yenus  self1  doth  soly  couples  seeme, 

Both  male  and  female  through  commixture  joined: 

So  pure  and  spotless  Cupid  forth  she  brought, 

And  in  the  gardens  of  Adonis  nurst : 

Where  growing  he  his  own  perfection  wrought, 

And  shortly  was  of  all  the  gods  the  first. 

This  high  power  the  poets  are  careful  never  to 
blaspheme  (line  822) ;  and  we  see  this  doctrine  in 
Shakespeare's  Sonnets  57,  58,  88,  89,  95,  96, 150,  &c. 

A  still  more  exalted  character  is  given  to  the 
object  by  Colin  (line  839),  where  we  read: 

1  And  this  is  only  another  name  for  the  Arcadian  Queen 
Cynthia. 

5 


98  COLIN   CLOUTS  [CHAP.  in. 

Long  before  the  world  he  was  ybore, 
And  bred  above  in  Venus'  bosom  dear: 

and  then,  as  if  to  leave  the  reader  in  no  doubt 
as  to  his  meaning,  the  poet  adds : 

For  by  his  power  the  world  was  made  of  yore ; 

and  is  not  this  what  John  says  of  the  Word  ? — the 
same  John  who  tells  us  that  God  is  Love,  a  word 
which  thence  became  a  synonym  for  religion  with 
a  large  class  of  mystical  writers,  especially  poets, 
including  Spenser,  whose  Amoretti  Sonnets  were  not 
addressed  to  a  lady  of  flesh  and  blood,  whatever 
the  critics  may  say  to  the  contrary. 

At  length  Melissa  breaks  in  (line  896),  ex- 
claiming : 

Colin,  thou  now  full  deeply  hast  divined 

Of  Love  and  Beauty;  and  with  wondrous  skill 

Hast  Cupid  self  depainted  in  his  kind. 

But  enough  has  been  said  to  show  the  purpose 
of  this  poem  of  Colin  Clouts  Come  Home  Again. 
It  signifies,  first,  a  visit  by  the  poet  to  the  poet's  ideal 
land,  the  poetic  Arcadia,  or  nature  as  seen  in  the 
spirit,  or  in  what  Swedenborg  calls  a  celestial  idea, 


CHAP,  in.]  INTERPRETED.  99 

to  which  ordinary  mortals  have  no  ready  access; 
and  then,  secondly,  by  his  Coming  Home  Again  is 
to  be  understood  his  coming  down  to  ordinary  life, 
to  give  us  a  poetic  description  of  what  he  saw  in 
the  spiritual  world,  using  this  expression  meta- 
phorically ;  for  the  eye  hath  not  seen  nor  hath  the 
ear  heard  what  is  said  and  done  in  the  Arcadian 
Land. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

REMARKS    ON    THE    AMORETTI,    OR    SONNETS    OP 
SPENSER. 

HAYING  explained  the  meaning  and  purpose  of 
Colin  Clouts  Come  Home  Again,  we  think  it  neces- 
sary to  express  the  opinion  we  entertain  of  the 
Sonnets  of  Spenser,  which,  like  those  of  Shakes- 
peare, we  regard  as  hermetic  studies. 

"We  desire  to  confess  that  the  field  of  inquiry  has 
grown  considerably  under  the  view  of  the  writer 
since  he  first  undertook  to  explain  the  purpose  of  the 
small  poem  just  named.  Indeed,  it  has  grown  so 
much  that  he  feels  the  necessity  of  using  some 
violence  in  the  effort  to  bring  his  remarks  to  a 
close. 

We  have  said  that  Spenser,  in  Colin  Clouts, 
has  presented,  in  a  hermetic  poem,  his  view  of 
a  Christian  life — the  life  pf  a  man  led  by  the  Spirit 


102  REMARKS   ON  [CHAP.  nr. 

of  Christ ;  and  that  he  figures  the  rewards  of  such  a 
life  by  what  he  says  of  the  "land"  of  Cynthia  and 
its  Queen. 

We  feel  called  upon  to  point  out  what  we  think 
of  the  Amoretti  Sonnets,  because  we  regard  them  as 
having  an  intimate  relation  to  what  is  set  forth  in 
(  the  poem ;  for,4n  the  Sonnets,  we  recognize  the  con- 
templative studies  of  the  poet  on  the  profoundest 
problems  of  life,  disclosed,  or,  if  the  reader  chooses, 
concealed,  in  hermetic  writing — the  form  of  writing 
used  in  both  Colin  Clouts  and  the  Amoretti. 

We  say  that  the  Sonnets  of  Spenser  were  not 
addressed  to  any  particular  person,  but,  like  those  of 
Shakespeare  and  of  many  of  the  poets  in  the  early 
stages  of  English  poetry,  they  enclose  the  specula- 
tive opinions  of  their  writers  upon  nature  and  life. 

Referring  to  the  remarks  on  the  Sonnets  of 
Shakespeare,  we  repeat  that  several  of  the  poets  of 
the  earlier  ages  of  English  poesy,  following  prece- 
dents as  old  as  Grecian  literature  (see  Shakespeare's 
Sonnet  108),  were  essentially  students  of  Nature, 
shrouding  their  inquiries  and  speculations,  so  far 
as  they  made  them  known  at  all,  in  a  mystical 
style  of  writing,  such  as  we  now  see  in  the  Sonnets 
left  us  by  many  of  the  poets  prior  to  the  time  of 


CHAP,  iv.]  THE   AMORETTI.  103 

Dryden.  After  the  Reformation  had  become  an 
acknowledged  fact,  that  style  of  writing  appears,  for 
the  most  part,  to  have  been  abandoned.  The  most 
extensive  series  of  sonnets  recently  published  are 
those  of  Wordsworth ;  but  there  is  nothing  mystical 
in  them.  Prior  to  Wordsworth's  time,  one  great 
cause  of  mysterious  writing  had  been  in  a  great 
degree  removed,  for  men  were  no  longer  burned  at 
the  stake  for  their  opinions. 

Jn  Spenser's  time,  and  prior  to  it,  the  Reformers, 
or  those  who  sought  to  live  above  the  superstitions 
of  the  time,  resorted  to  hermetic  writings ;  and  the 
poets,  for  the  most  part,  adopted  the  sonnet  as  the 
vehicle  of  their  opinions  and  speculations,  Chaucer 
and  some  others,  however,  using  poems  in  the  form 
of  tales  and  df  earns.  In  the  main,  whatever  special 
opinions  they  attained,  the  practice  was  almost 
universal'  of  using  personifications  in  expressing 
them ;  and  as  Nature,  in  the  eye  of  a  poet,  is 
anything  but  a  mere  inert  mass  of  dead  matter — 
being  rather  "  the  glorious  image  of  the  Maker's 
beauty  "  (Amoretti,  61) — they  usually  set  forward, 
as  the  figure  for  their  sense  of  the  Beautiful,  the 
most  beautiful  object  in  Nature ;  and  that  is,  con- 
fessedly, on  all  hands,  a  beautiful  woman. 


104  REMARKS    ON  [CHAP.  iv. 

As  the  Beautiful  is  seen  in  Nature,  and  as  the 
most  beautiful  object  in  nature  is  a  beautiful  woman, 
many  of  the  older  poets  have,  we  say,  professed  to 
have  seen  in  woman  that  beauty  and  perfection  which 
they  conceived  in  the  spirit,  and  have  honored  it  with 
a  devotion  which  they  felt  was  due  to  what  Spenser 
calls  the  FIRST  FAIR,  which  expresses  an  invisible 
sentiment  or  "  idea  "  having  no  distinct  or  complete 
type  in  any  one  visible  thing  in  the  universe,  and 
which,  indeed,  the  poets  themselves  treat  as  irrepre- 
sentable  by  mere  imagery ;  for  the  eye  never  sees  it, 
nor  does  the  ear  hear  it/^ 

Many  of  the  hermetic  poets  have  given  us  inti- 
mations of  the  true  object  of  their  poetic  worship  ; 
but  mostly  in  the  form  of  poems  addressed  to  some 
lady,  in  which,  without  doubt,  there  has  been  in 
many  instances  a  real,  visible  object,  though  seen 
under  the  "  heightening  influence  of  the  ideal." 
Hence  the  pertinacity  with  which  writers  insist  upon 
the  reality  of  a  Beatrice,  a  Laura,  a  Fiammetta, 
&c.,  though  they  are  staggered  when  they  fall  in 
with  the  "  Lovely  Boy "  of  Shakespeare's  Sonnets, 
and  waste  a  world  of  labor  in  efforts  to  show  what 
particular  historical  person  may  answer  to  the  said 
boy ;  when  the  very  absurdity,  not  to  say  monstros- 


CHAP,  iv.]  THE   AMORETTI.  105 

ity,  immediately  apparent  from  a  literal  interpreta- 
tion, ought  to  suggest  a  rule,  well  understood  by  St. 
Augustine  and  others,  that  when  any  one  encounters 
what  is  visibly  absurd  or  monstrous  in  a  writing, 
the  writing  is  either  worthless,  or  should  be  inter- 

O  ' 

preted  from  some  other  than  a  literal  ground. 

With  regard  to  Spenser,  a  reasonable  critic  may 
consider  the  question  as  having  been  settled  by 
and  for  himself  in  his  Hymns,  where  it  is  certain  he 
enforces,  in  the  strongest  terms,  his  faith  in  the 
reality  of  the  unseen  Beauty,  the  Lady  of  his 
Sonnets,  and  the  Cynthia  of  Colin  Clouts.  We 
pass  over  much  argument  on  the  subject,  and  recite 
from  the  Hymns : 

"  How  vainly  then   do   idle  wits   invent 
That  Beauty  is  nought   else  but  mixture  made 
Of  colors  fair,    and  goodly  temp'rament, 
Of  pure   complexions,   that   shall   quickly  fade 
And  pass  away,   like   to  a  summer's  shade  ; 
Or  that  it   is   but  comely  composition 
Of  parts  well  measured,   with  meet  disposition! 


But  ah  !    believe  me,   there  is  more  than  so, 
That  works   such  wonders  in  the  minds  of  men. 


106  REMARKS    ON  [OE 

For  that   same   goodly  hue   of  white   and   red, 
With  which  the  cheeks  are  sprinkled,  shall  decay, 
And   those   sweet   rosy   leaves,    so   fairly   spread 
Upon  the  lips,    shall  fade  and  fall  away 
To  that  they  were,    even  to  corrupted  clay. 


But  that  fair  lamp,   from  whose  celestial  ray 
That  light   proceeds   which   kindleth   lovers'  fire, 
Shall  never  be  extinguished  nor  decay; 
But,   when  the  vital  spirits   do  expire, 
Unto  her  native  planet  shall  retire  ; 
For  it  is   heavenly-born,   and  cannot  die, 
Being  a  parcel   of  the  purest  sky." 

This  opinion  is  expressed  in  several  ways  in  the 
Amoretti:  it  is  intimated  in  the  first  Sonnet,  10th 
line,  where  the  poet  assigns  Helicon  as  the  birth- 
place of  his  Lady;  it  is  referred  to  in  the  15th 
Sonnet,  line  13,  as  being  what  "few  behold;"  it  is 
stated  in  Sonnet  55,  line  10,  in  direct  terms,  &c. 

The  point  left  for  debate  as  to  Spenser's  theory 
(which,  like  that  of  Sidney  and  many  others,  is 
Platonic),  is  as  to  the  initial  or  suggesting  condition 
under  which  the  heavenly  love  takes  its  origin  ;  and 
here  there  may  be  a  doubt,  if  not  settled  by  the  78th 
Sonnet,  as  to  whether  it  must  be  beauty  in  a  woman, 


CHAP,  iv.]  THE   AMORETTI.  107 

or  may  be  the  Beautiful  in  some  other  object,  or  in 
some  scene  in  nature,  the  evening  or  morning  star, 
the  rising  or  setting  sun,  or  possibly  a  simple  flower, 
as  Wordsworth  saw  it  in  a  "  primrose."  Whatever 
may  be  the  suggesting  cause,  the  IDEA  itself  is  sup- 
posed to  transcend  time  and  the  visible,  and  stands 
before  the  poet's  mind  a  living  reality  j^ 

"  For  lovers'   eyes  [says  the  poet]  more  sharply  sighted  be 
Than  other  men's,    and  in  dear  love's   delight 
See  more  than  any  other  eyes   can   see, 
Through  mutual   receipt   of  beams   bright, 
Which   carry  privie  message  to  the   spright, 
And  to  their  eyes   that  inmost  fair  display, 
As  plain  as   light  discovers   dawning   day. 

*  *  *  *  * 
In  which  how  many  wonders  do  they  read 
To  their  conceipt,   that   others  never  see  ! 

*  *  *  *  * 
Then,   lo  triumph  !      0   great  Beauty's   Queen, 
Advance  the   banner  of  thy  conquest  high, 
That  all  this   world,   the  which  thy  vassals  been, 
May  draw  to   thee,   and  with  due  fealty 

Adore  the  power   of  thy  great  majesty, 
Singing   this   hymn   in  honor   of  thy   name, 
Compiled  by  me,   which   thy  poor  liegeman   ain." l 

1  See  Colin  Clouts*  line  640,  &c. 


108  REMARKS    ON  [CKAP.  TV. 

In  the  use  of  the  expression  lover's  eyes,  we  may 
inquire  whether  the  poet  means  the  eyes  of  two  hu- 
man lovers,  male  and  female,  or  refers  to  lovers  in 
the  poetic  sense,  meaning  those  who  are  capable  of 
receiving  the  sentiment  (or  idea)  from  anything  in 
nature,  not  because  of  the  dogma  that  God  is,  and 
may  be  seen,  in  all  things,  for  this  dogma  itself  rests 
on  the  fact  that  some  men  do  thus  see  God  (His 
Spirit  or  Beauty)  in  all  things. 

yThe  point  appears  to  be,  that  Spenser,  and  others 
of  his  class,  see  something  as  the  Beautiful,  which 
they  figure  as  a  lady  ;  and  then  seek  its  smiles  and 
faror  in  language  somewhat  assimilated  to  ordinary 
courtship,  while  the  object  itself  is  conceived  to  be 
invisible  and  eternal  —  characteristics  of  what  is  uni- 
versally admitted  to  be  divine?^ 


Hermetic  poets  have  labored  under  extreme  diffi- 
culties in  their  efforts  to  avoid  startling  their  readers 
by  direct  statements  which,  being  liable  to  be  mis- 
understood, are  exposed  to  come  into  conflict  with 
some  tenet  of  traditional  faith.  Thus,  what  between 
the  difficulty  of  the  subject  and  a  well-intentioned 
respect  for  what  are  felt,  nevertheless,  to  be  preju- 
dices of  education,  the  oldest  and  purest  faith  in  the 


CHAP.    IV. 


]  THE    AMORETTI.  109 


world  is  left  either  to  be  trampled  upon  or  to  be 
resuscitated  from  a  most  artificial  and  figurative 
dress  or  presentation,  by  a  sort  of  happy  accident, 
which  is  itself  held  under  strict  bonds  of  secrecy  by 
the  solemn  assertion  that  a  discovery  can  only  be 
made  through  the  special  gift  of  God. 

Nature,  it  is  true,  contains  one  secret  by  no 
means  easily  discovered  when  it  has  once  been 
obscured;  but  the  poets  throw  over  that  secret  an 
almost  impenetrable  covering  of  words,  figures,  and 
symbols,  making  the  task  of  discovery  infinitely 
more  difficult  than  Nature  left  it ;  not,  indeed,  the 
best  of  the  poets,  whose  representations  are  so  com- 
pletely artistic,  that  the  sense  is  never  perverted  to 
positively  mischievous  ends,  though  the  reader  may 
miss  the  true  sense.^ 

In  the  poem  we  have  had  under  examination 
the  true  sense  may  be  missed  by  many ;  but  it  is  an 
offence  only  against  taste — we  mean  literary  taste. 
It  is  merely  a  sort  of  childish  mistake  to  imagine 
that  Colin  Clouts  was  designed  in  any  manner  to 
refer  to  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  does  no  visible  injury 
in  the  world. 


In  reading  the  Amoretti,  we  see  many  signs  of 


110  REMARKS    ON  [CHAP.  iv. 

their  mystical  and  secret  character,  and  something 
even  of  the  cause  of  the  poet's  resort  to  that  species 
of  writing. 

In  the  84th  Sonnet  he  says : 

The   world  that  cannot  deem   of  worthy  things, 
When  I   do   praise  her,    say   I   do  but  flatter  ; 
So  does   the   cuckoo,   when  the  mavis   sings, 
Begin  his  witiess  note  apace  to   clatter. 
But  they  that  skill  not   of  so  heavenly  matter, 
All  that   they   know  not,   envy   or   admire  ; 
Rather   than   envy,  let   them   wonder   at   her, 
But  not  to  deem  of  her  desert  aspire. 
Deep,   in  the  closet  of  my  parts   entire, 
Her  worth  is  written  with   a  golden  quill, 
That  me  with  heavenly  fury  doth  inspire, 
And  my  glad  mouth   with  her  sweet  praises  fill. 
Which  when  as  Fame  in  her  shrill  trump  shall  thunder, 
Let  the  world  choose  to  envy  or  to  wonder. 

This  particular  Sonnet,  it  is  quite  true,  might 
have  been  composed  in  view  of  some  lady,  whom  the 
world  thought  excessively  praised;  but  the  judg- 
ment to  be  passed  upon  it,  and  upon  several  special 
Sonnets,  must  follow  a  general  opinion,  to  be  drawn 
from  a  consideration  of  the  purpose  of  other  Sonnets 
making  up  the  entire  collection,  whose  character 


'•HAP.  TV.]  THE    AMORETTI.  Ill 

must  be  determined  as  a  whole,  to  which  a  few 
seemingly  exceptional  Sonnets  must  submit,  pro- 
vided only  that  no  positive  violence  be  done  the 
sense. 

We  see,  in  this  84th  Sonnet,  that  Spenser  dis- 
credited the  judgment  of  the  "world"  upon  the 
character  of  the  object  addressed  in  his  Sonnets  ;  and 
this  may  be  considered  as  among  the  'causes  of  his 
hermetic  writing.  He  knew  that  the  world  would 
not  appreciate  his  opinions  on  the  Divine  Beauty, 
which  was  only  seen  by  what  the  poet  calls  (Sonnet 
87)  the  "  contemplation  of  his  purest  part,"  the 
"  Beauty  "  of  his  love  being,  as  he  calls  it,  "  pure, 
immortal,  high,"  which,  as  he  tells  us  in  the  1st 
Sonnet,  descended  upon  him  from  Helicon,  and 
which  he  calls  his  "  soul's  long-lacked  food — his 
heaven's  bliss." 

In  allusions  of  this  character,  in  connection  with 
t  what  we  have  cited  from  the  Hymns,  and  in  keep- 
ing with  the  very  plain  doctrine  of  the  poem  of 
Colin  Clouts  in  honor  of  Queen  Cynthia,  we  must  be 
very  unwilling  to  be  convinced,  or  we  must  see 
that  Spenser's  Love  was  not  a  woman,  except  as  she 
was  the  image  of  an  immortal  Beauty  which  claimed 
all  of  his  devotion,  but  which  was  of  such  a  nature 


112  REMARKS    ON  [CHAP.  iv. 

that  he  knew  the  world  in  general  would  not  under- 
stand if  he  wrote  openly  about  it ;  hence  it  was,  as 
we  see  the  problem,  that  the  poet  decided  to  write 
mystically  about  his  u  secret  " — his  secret  love.  The 
poet  was  in  the  condition  of  one  who  feels  the  need 
of  utterance,  and  yet  despairs  of  linding  an  intelli- 
gent audience  in  the  public,  while  he  knew  there 
were  some  individuals  to  whose  secret  soul  his  love- 
sonnets  would  be  acceptable  in  their  real  sense. 
The  poet  was  in  this  state  when  he  wrote  the  43d 
Sonnet,  which  discloses  his  purpose  of  writing  in 
secret,  that  is,  in  hermetic  symbolism,  which  should 
be  obscure  to  the  world  in  general,  but  would  be 
understood  by  those  who  belonged  to  the  class  called 
lovers^>as  in  Shakespeare's  56th  Sonnet — meaning 
lovers  of  the  Divine  Beauty,  figured  by  so  many 
poets  as  a  lady,  though  seen  also  in  man. 
We  recite  here  the  43d  Sonnet : 

Shall   I  then   silent   be,   or  shall   I   speak  ? 
And,    if  I   speak,   her   wrath  renew  I  shall ; 
And,   if  I   silent  be,   my   heart   will   break, 
Or   choked  be   with   overflowing    gall. 

Here  we  see  the  wish  of  the  poet  to  relieve  his 
soul  by  expression,  and  yet  clearly  see  the  struggle 


CEAP.  iv.]  THE    AMORETTI.  113 

or  conflict  growing  out  of  the  natural  desire  for 
relief,  and  the  apprehension  of  contests  with  the 
world,  which  the  poet  figures  as  the  wrath  of  his 
lady ;  for  we  are  now,  in  this  very  Sonnet,  in  the 
midst  of  hermetic  writing.  The  wrath  of  the  lady 
is  a  mere  figure  for  the  apprehended  wrath  of  the 
world  in  case  he  should  undertake  to  write  openly 
about  what  he  knew  the  world,  in  his  day,  would 
not  appreciate. 
He  proceeds : 

What  tyranny  is  this,   both  my  heart  to  thrall, 
And  eke  my  tongue  with  proud  restraint  to  tie  ; 
That  neither  I  may  speak  nor  think   at   all, 
But  like  a  stupid   stock    in  silence  die  ! 

But  now  we  come  to  the  resolve  of  the  poet  : 

Yet  I  my  heart  with  silence  secretly 

Witt  teach  to  speak,   and  my  just  cause  to  plead; 

And  eke  mine  eyes,   with  meek  humility, 

Love-learned  letters  to  her   eyes   to   read ; 

Which  her  deep  wit,  that  true  heart's  thought  can  spell, 
Will  soon  conceive,   and  learn  to  construe  well. 

In  this  Sonnet  we  see  distinctly  the  purpose  of 
the  poet  to  write  amoretti,  or  love-sonnets,  which  he 


*114  REMARKS    ON  [CHAP.  iv. 

calls  love-learned  letters,  and  which  he  expected 
would  be  understood  by  a  certain  class  of  spirituelle 
friends,  who  would  have  what  are  called  by  many 
of  the  poets  lover's  eyes,  or  eyes  which  look  beyond 
the  letter  to  what  St.  Paul  calls  the  spirit. 
^A  curious  reader  may  ask  why  Spenser  and  others 
resorted  to  this  mode  of  writing,  properly  called  her- 
metic; and,  if  there  was  reason  for  secrecy  in  his 
day,  why  any  attempt  should  now  be  made  to  raise 
the  veil.  If  an  answer  to  the  first  part  of  the  ques- 
tion is  not  seen  in  the  43d  Sonnet,  in  the  allusion  to 
the  "  wrath  "  of  the  lady,  let  the  reader  consider  the 
state  of  the  times  prior  to  and  during  the  progress  of 
the  Reformation,  and  he  must  soon  understand  that, 
while  some  were  willing,  as  martyrs,  to  encounter 
the  intolerance  of  the  times,  there  must  have  been 
others  who,  and  for  many  reasons  which  might  be 
named,  would  easily  fall  into  some  understood  forms 
of  expression,  by  which  they  could  communicate  with 
each  other  and  yet  leave  the  woman  undisturbed ; 
for  the  woman  was  the  public,  having  a  visible  and 
an  invisible  side,  exactly  in  harmony  with  the  doc- 
trine which  gave  two  sides  to  Nature,  a  visible  and 
an  invisible  side  ;  on  the  one  side  of  which  the 
lovers  saw  their  mistress  as  "  cruel "  and  as  "  treach- 


CHAP,  iv.]  THE    AMORETTI.  115 

erous,"  &c.,  while,  as  seen  within,  the  same  mistress 
was  known  to  be  true  and  perfect. 

With  respect  to  raising  the  veil,  it  is  sufficient  to 
say  that  the  cause  of  the  secrecy  being  no  longer  in 
force,  it  is,  to  say  the  least,  an  interesting  question 
to  discover,  if  we  can,  what  the  ingenious  men  of  the 
age  thought,  and  see  also,  if  we  can,  how  they  ex- 
pressed themselves  on  the  great  problems  of  life. 

Although  the  author  of  these  remarks  has  every 
confidence  in  the  correctness  of  his  explanations,  he 
would  be  among  the  last  to  claim  infallibility.  He 
is  absolutely  convinced,  perhaps  on  theoretic  grounds 
(it  may  be  thought),  that,  in  the  very  nature  of 
things,  there  must  be  a  positive  ground  of  reference 
by  which  mystic  writings  may  be  interpreted ;  but 
whilst  this  is  admitted,  it  is  conceded,  at  the  same 
time,  that  a  knowledge  of  that  ground  may  be  what 
some  writers,  speaking  in  a  philosophical  sense,  call 
inadequate.  Adequate  knowledge,  as  distinguished 
from  the  inadequate,  is  that  of  the  reason  as  distin- 
guished from  that  of  the  senses.  Genuine  hermetic 
writers  trace  adequate  knowledge  to  Reason,  as 
being  absolute. 

It  is  only  in  virtue  that  there  is  something  abso- 


116  REMARKS    OX   THE  AMOKETTI.  [CHAP.  iv. 

lute — that  anything  whatever  can  be  conceived  as 
absolutely  true ;  from  which  it  comes  that  the  true 
and  the  absolute  must  be  seen  together :  and  criti- 
cism itself,  even  in  its  subordinate  character,  is  only 
possible  on  the  assumption  of  the  true ;  that  is,  the 
assumption  of  there  being  what  may  be  called  abso- 
lute truth. 

All  men  are  instinctively  agreed  upon  the  prin- 
ciple, that  there  is  such  truth :  they  only  differ  as 
to  what  it  is,  and  where  to  seek  for  it. 

Certainly,  one  principle  should  be  admitted  by  all  - 
seekers ;    to  wit,  that  Truth  cannot  be  contrary  to 
itself:  and  as  the  evidence  of  truth  must  itself  have 
the  nature  of  truth  to  be  valid,  it  must  follow  that 
truth  and  its  evidence  will  be  found  self-supporting. 

We  feel  justified  in  saying  that,  if  the  author  is 
in  error  in  his  explanation  of  Colin  Clouts  and  the 
Sonnets  of  Spenser,  he  can  only  be  shown  to  be  so 
by  an  appeal  to  truth  in  a  higher  sense  than  he  un- 
derstands it ;  and  in  that  case  he  has  but  this  to 
say — that  he  is  ready  to  accept  that  higher  sense 
from  any  one  who  will  assist  him  to  it. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

THE  most  direct  method  of  making  our  opinion  of 
the  Amoretti  Sonnets  acceptable  would  be  to  name 
and  define  the  object  addressed,  so  as  to  hold  it  dis- 
tinctly before  the  imagination  of  the  reader.  But 
this  is  not  possible,  because  the  real  object,  though 
visible  in  some  sense,  as  the  world  itself  is  visi- 
ble, is  nevertheless  invisible  in  fact,  as  is  what  is 
called  the  spirit  of  the  world  ;  or  if  we  substitute  the 
word  Nature  for  the  world,  as  just  used,  we  shall 
express  the  same  thing.  In  the  main,  we  say  that 
the  hermetic  poets  were  students  of  nature  and  wor- 
shippers of  its  spirit,  the  object  being,  to  the  imagi- 
nation, double,  and  thence  called  in  the  Shakespeare 
Sonnets  (the  20th)  the  master-mistress  of  the  poet's 
passion,  or  Love  ;  as  it  is  also  described,  as  we  have 
pointed  out,  in  Colin  Clouts.  The  reader  must  read- 
ily see  that  the  idea  of  the  object,  however  conceived 
as  a  unity  in  one  sense,  must  be  complex  before  the 


118  REMARKS    ON  [CHAP.  v. 

imagination  ;  and  in  general  we  may  say  it  is  figured 
as  One,  as  Two,  and  as  Three.  This  will  easily  be 
seen  in  the  Sonnets,  and  we  may  as  well  point  out 
some  evidences  at  once.  For  this  purpose  we  refer 
to  the  13th  Sonnet,  where  the  Lady,  the  mystical 
object  written  about,  is  represented  as  having  her 
face  elevated  to  the  sky,  while  her  eye-lids  are  said 
to  be  on  the  ground.  Who  cannot  see  that  this 
constrained  position  is  unreal,  and  expresses  simply 
the  upper  and  the  lower,  or  spirit  and  matter,  as  two 
of  the  three  principles  of  the  unity  ?  But  a  third 
principle  is  represented  as  a  "  goodly  temperature," 
or  in  other  words,  the  medium  or  "  midst "  principle 
of  the  Trinity.  Thus: 

13.  In  that  proud  port   [or  bearing],  which  her  so  goodly 

graceth, 

Whiles  her  fair  face  she  rears  up  to  the  sky, 
And  to  the  ground  her  eye-lids  low  embaseth, 
Most  goodly  temperature  ye  may  descry ;  &c. 

Nothing  is  more  common  than  to  speak  of  what 
is  called  the  bosom  of  nature ;  and  the  77th  Sonnet, 
besides  others,  will  show  how  this  is  referred  to  the 
mystic  Lady. 

77.  Was  it  a  dream,  or  did  I  see  it  plain; 
A.  goodly  table  of  pure  ivory, 


CHAP,  v.]  THE    AMORETTI.  1 1  9 

All   spread  with  juncats,  fit   to  entertain 

The  greatest  prince  with   pompous  royalty: 

Mongst  which,  there  in  a  silver  dish  did  lie 

Two — [here  we  have  a  figure  for  two  principles  of  the 

Trinity,  in  themselves  pure] — 
Two  golden  apples  of  unvalued  price ; 

#  *  *  * 

Exceeding  sweet,  yet  void  of  sinful  vice. 

#  *  *  * 

Her  breast — [that  is,  the  bosom  of  Nature,  figured 

as  a  Lady] — 

Her  breast  that  table  was,   so  richly  spread ; 
My  thoughts  the  guests,  which  would  thereon  have  fed. 

In  the  Sonnet  preceding  this  the  bosom  of  Nature 
is  also  addressed,  as  the  fair  bosom  of  the  mystical 
Lady. 

76.  Fair  bosom  !   fraught  with  virtue's  richest  treasure, 
The  nest  of  love,  the  lodging  of  delight, 
The  bower  of  bliss,  the  paradise  of  pleasure, 
The  sacred  harbor  of  that   heavenly  spright ; 
How  was  I  ravished  with  your  lovely  sight, 
And  my  frail  thoughts  too  rashly  led  astray! 
Whiles  diving  deep  through  amorous  insight, 
On  the  sweet  spoil  of  beauty  they  did  prey; 
And  twixt  her  paps,  (like    early  fruit  in  May, 
Whose  harvest  seemed  to  hasten  now  apace,) 
They  loosely  did  their  wanton  wings  display, 


120  REMARKS   ON  [CHAP.  v. 

\nd  there  to  rest  themselves  did  boldly  place. 
Sweet  thoughts!  I  envy  your  so  happy  rest, 
Which  oft  I  wished,  yet  never  was  so  blessed. 

Plainly,  in  this  Sonnet,  the  poet  is  imagining  a 
rest  in  the  bosom  of  Nature,  to  which  the  Sonnets 
show  he  had  not  attained,  but  was  still  seeking  ;  and 
though  in  the  63d  Sonnet  the  poet  lets  us  see  that  he 
had  reached  something  like  a  glimpse  of  the  true  rest, 
which  he  calls  "  eternal  bliss,"  or  eternal  life — for 
this  is  what  he  meant — he  did  not  enjoy  the  fruition 
of  it  beyond  other  mortals  in  the  flesh,  as  we  plainly 
see  by  the  closing  Sonnet,  the  88th,  in  which  he  com- 
pares himself  to  a  turtle-dove,  mourning  its  fate,  &c. 

The  reader  may  see  a  further  reference  to  Nature 
in  the  64th  Sonnet,  where  the  most  sensuous  personi- 
fications are  used,  as  they  are  in  the  Canticles,  which, 
in  the  opinion  of  the  writer  of  these  remarks,  was 
addressed  to  the  same  object. 

The  entire  absence  from  the  poet's  mind  of  any 
actually  sensuous  ideas  is  sufficiently  clear  from  the 
83d  Sonnet  : 

83.  Let  not  one  spark  of  filthy  lustful  fire 

Break  out,  that  may  her  sacred  peace  molest ; 
No  one  light  glance  of  sensual  desire 
Attempt  to  work  her  gentle  mind's  unrest : 


CHAP,  v.]  THE    AMORETTI.  121 

But  pure  affections  bred  in  spotless  breast, 

And  modest  thoughts  breathed  from  well-tempered 

spirits, 
Go  visit  her,  in  her  chaste  bower  of  rest,  &c. 

The  "  sacred  peace  "  and  the  rest  here  intended 
is  that  of  Nature  in  what  has  been  well  called  her 
"animated  repose;"  and  however  beautiful  as  ap- 
plied to  lovely  woman,  it  was  here  addressed  to  Na- 
ture, the  object  of  the  poet's  study. 

There  is  quite  a  class  of  sonnets  in  which  Lady 
Nature  is  figured  in  her  double  character  as  visible 
and  invisible,  and  the  poet  bids  us  beware  of  the 
visible,  meaning  simply  what  are  called  the  deceits 
and  treacheries  of  the  world. 

In  some  cases  the  visible  beauty  of  the  world  is 
intended,  as  in  the  55th  Sonnet : 

So  oft  as  I  her  beauty  do  behold — 
meaning  simply  the  beauty  of  Nature — 
And  therewith  do  her  cruelty  compare — 

that  is,  so  oft  as  the  poet  compares  the  treacheries 
of  the  world,  its  delusive  hopes  and  severe  trials,  to 
the  promises  of  life — 

I  marvel  [says  he]  of  what  substance  was  the  mould, 
The  which  her  made  at  once  so  cruel  fair,  &c. 
6 


122  REMARKS   ON  [CHAP.  v. 

Cruel  Fair  is  a  common  expression  for  the  Lady, 
meaning  that  Nature  is  exceedingly  deceptive  to  the 
natural  eye,  and  by  no  means  allows  its  devotee 
through  that  channel  to  reach  or  understand  her 
true  beauties  or  glories.  Thus,  in  the  53d  Sonnet, 
the  Lady  is  compared  to  a  panther,  with  a  de- 
ceivingly beautiful  spotted  hide,  or  outside  : 

63.  The  panther,  knowing  that  his  spotted  hide 

Doth  please  all  beasts,  but  that  his  looks  them  fray, 

[or  frighten,] 

Within  a  bush  his  dreadful  head  doth  hide, 
To  let  them  gaze,  whilst  he  on  them  may  prey: 
Right  so  my  cruel  fair  with  me  doth  play  ; 
For,  with  the  goodly  semblance  of  her  hue, 
She  doth  allure  me  to  mine  own  decay, 
And  then  no  mercy  will  unto  me  show. 

Can  any  one  suppose  that  this  Sonnet  was  ad- 
dressed by  a  reasonable  lover  to  a  lady  sought  in 
honorable  marriage  ?  Certainly  not.  The  panther 
figures  the  Lady,  and  the  Lady  figures  Nature,  the 
object  of  the  poet's  studies. 

The  37th  Sonnet  gives  us  the  very  same  doctrine 
under  other  figures : 

37.  What  guile  is  this,  that  those  her  golden  tresses 
She  doth  attire  under  a  net  of  gold ; 


CHAP,  v.]  THE   AMORETTI.  123 

And  with  sly  skill  so  cunningly  them  dresses, 

That  which  is  gold  or  hair  may  scarce  be  told  ? 

Is  it  that  men's  frail  eyes,  [or  intellects,]  which  gaze  too 

bold, 

She  may  entangle  in  that  golden  snare ; 
And,  being  caught,  may  craftily  enfold 
Their  weaker  hearts,  which  are  not  well  aware  ? 
Take  heed  therefore,  mine  eyes,  how  ye  do  stare 
Henceforth  too  rashly  on  that  guileful  net, 
In  which  if  ever  ye  entrapped  are, 
Out  of  her  bands  ye  by  no  means  shall  get, 
Fondness  it  were  for  any,  being  free, 
To  covet  fetters  though  they  golden  be. 

This  is  only  throwing  into  verse  the  trite  maxim, 
that  all  is  not  gold  that  glitters ;  though  we  may 
explain  further  that  the  poet  is,  in  the  largest  sense, 
giving  a  caution  against  the  deceits  of  the  world,  by 
which  so  many  lose  their  hopes  of  glory  in  a  religious 
sense ;  for  these  entire  studies  tend  to  the  exaltation 
of  the  spirit  over  matter,  or  nature,  as  visible,  while 
yet  the  doctrine  was  that,  essentially,  the  two  are  one, 
or  in  harmony,  and  that  man  should  seek  his  blessing, 
not  by  doing  violence  to  nature,  but  by  living  in 
harmony  with  its  eternal  laws. 

Another  caution  against  the  treachery  of  the  vis- 
ible may  be  seen  in  the  47th  Sonnet : 


124  REMARKS    ON  [CHAP.  v. 

47.  Trust  not  the  treason  of  those  smiling  looks, 
Until  ye  have  their  guileful  trains  well  tried : 
For  they  are  like  but  unto  golden  hooks, 
That  from  the  foolish  fish  their  bates  do  hide  ; 
So  she  with  flattering  smiles — 

These  are  the  seductive  and  cheating  smiles  of  what, 
in  popular  discourse,  is  called  the  corrupt  world — 

So  she  with  flattering  smiles  weak  hearts  doth  guide — 

Would  this  language  be  acceptable  to  any  lady,  de- 
serving the  name,  or  calculated  to  propitiate  her 
grace  in  behalf  of  a  lover  ?  — 

So  she  with  flattering  smiles  weak  hearts  doth  guide 
Unto  her  love,  and  tempt  to  their  decay ; 
Whom,  being  caught,  she  kills  with  cruel  pride, 
And  feeds  at  pleasure  on  the  wretched  prey. 

Nothing  can  be  more  absurd  than  to  suppose 
that  this  Sonnet  was  addressed  to  a  lady  of  flesh 
and  blood.  It  was  addressed  to  Lady  Nature  ;  and 
is  followed,  in  the  Sonnet,  by  the  declaration  of  a 
beautiful  philosophy,  by  which  we  may  see  that  the 
poet  understood  the  doctrine,  which  teaches  the 
beautifying  influences  of  that  perfect  submission  to 
the  law  of  nature,  by  which  evils  are  transformed 
into  benefits,  and  even  death  into  life. 


CHAP,  v.]  THE   AMORETTI.  125 

0  mighty  charm  !  [exclaims  the  poet,]  which  makes  men  love 

their  bane, 
And  think  they  die  with  pleasure,  live  with  pain. 

The  81st  Sonnet  may  present  some  difficulties 
to  a  student  unpractised  in  hermetic  writings,  but, 
like  all  the  rest  of  the  Sonnets,  it  must  be  read 
under  a  sense  of  the  author's  habitual  personifica- 
tions of  Nature ;  by  which  Nature,  as  a  whole, 
is  seen  in  all  its  parts,  and  is  thus  recognized  as  the 
Lady  with  golden  hair,  red  cheeks,  eyes  of  fire,  and 
richly-laden  breast  or  bosom,  as  we  have  already 
seen  ;  but,  above  all,  she  is  astonishingly  marvellous 
in  what  Plutarch  calls,  in  the  Essay  on  Isis  and 
Osiris,  her  DISCOURSE,  or,  in  other  words,  in  the 
power  of  speech.  Nothing  but  habit  makes  us 
familiar  with  the  wonders  of  nature  and  the  spirit, 
and  particularly  with  that  wonderful  faculty  by 
which  man  is  distinguished  from  all  other  animals, 
the  faculty  of  speech;  and  it  is  not  strange  that 
what  is  technically  called  the  Word  should  be 
regarded  as  Divine. 

A  religious  sentiment  is   strongly  expressed   in 
the  61st  Sonnet — a  sentiment  which  may  be  seen  in 
all  of  this  class  of  poets,  from  Chaucer  down. 
61.  The  glorious  image  of  the  Maker's  beauty-^- 


126  REMARKS    ON  [CHAP.  v. 

Here  the  poet  addresses  the  world  as  the  image 
of  God.  Do  not  those  who  profess  to  despise 
it,  dishonor  the  Maker  ?  The  poets  do  not  so ; 
although,  as  we  have  seen,  they  figure  its  visible  as 
a  terrible  panther,  whose  spotted  hide  is  to  be 
guarded  against — 

The  glorious  image  of  the  Maker's  beauty, 
My  sovereign  saint,  the  idol  of  my  thought, 
Dare  not  henceforth,  above  the  bounds  of  duty, 
T'  accuse  of  pride,  or  rashly  blame  for  aught. 
For  being,  as  she  is,  divinely  wrought, 
And  of  the  brood  of  Angels  heavenly  born; 
And  with  the  crew  of  blessed  saints  upbrought, 
Each  of  which  did  her  with  their  gifts  adorn ; 
The  bud  of  joy,  the  blossom  of  the  morn, 
The  beam  of  light,  whom  mortal  eyes  admire ; 
What  reason  is  it  then  but  she  should  scorn 
Base  things,  that  to  her  love  too  bold  aspire! 
Such  heavenly  forms  ought  rather  worshipped  be, 
Than  dare  be  lovM  by  men  of  mean  degree. 

The  nearest  expression  of  the  theory  of  both 
Shakespeare  and  Spenser,  so  far  as  mere  words 
can  draw  attention  to  it,  as  exhibited  in  the  Son- 
nets, seems  to  be  this:  they  each  conceive  a  cer- 
tain trinity,  of  which  the  three  elements,  so  to 
say  (admitting,  however,  that  a  mere  written 


CHAP,  v.]  THE   AMOBETTI.  127 

creed  is  without  life),  are,  first,  the  higher  spirit, 
which  is  invisible ;  next,  that  which  is  visible,  or 
can  be  known  through  the  senses,  and  which  is  com- 
monly called  nature ;  and,  lastly,  man,  as  the  micro- 
cosm, expressing  the  double  being  of  spirit  and 
matter,  the  latter  represented  in  the  body,  the 
former  in  the  soul. 

By  reading  the  20th,  36th,  39th,  44th,  and  74th 
of  the  Shakespeare  Sonnets,  the  theory  becomes 
tolerably  clear. 

We  see  a  similar  doctrine  or  theory  in  the 
Spenser  Sonnets,  particularly  in  the  45th  Sonnet; 
to  understand  which  we  must  see  that  the  higher 
spirit  is  figured  in  what  is  called,  in  the  Sonnet,  the 
"  glass  of  crystal  clear." 

The  Lady  we  must  regard  as  nature  personified ; 
and  now  we  see  that  the  poet  addresses  Nature : 

Leave,  Lady !  in  your  glass  of  crystal  clean, 
Your  goodly  self  for  evermore  to  view: 
And  in  myself,  ray  inward  self,  I  mean, 
Most  lively  like  behold  your  semblant  true. 
Within  my  heart,  though  hardly  it  can  show 
Thing  so  divine  to  view  of  earthly  eye, 
The  fair  idea  of  your  celestial  hue 
And  every  part  remains  immortally — 


128  REMARKS    ON  [CHAP.  v. 

That  is,  the  poet  recognizes  the  eternal  idea,  or 
the  idea  of  the  eternal,  in  his  own  heart,  "which 
corresponds  to  the  over-soul  figured  by  the  clean 
crystal  glass ;  and  nature,  the  personified  object 
addressed,  though  here  the  microcosm  is  intended, 
is  urged,  as  it  were,  to  turn  from  contemplating 
herself  in  the  over-soul,  and  see  herself  in  the  poet's 
soul,  where  the  "  celestial  idea  "  remains  immortally, 
and  where  the  Lady  might  see  herself,  no  less  clearly 
than  in  the  over-soul;  but  for  a  certain  obstacl", 
called  in  Shakespeare's  44th  Sonnet  the  "dull  sub- 
stance of  the  flesh" — which  makes  what  is  called 
the  "  separable  spite  "  of  the  36th  Sonnet  and  "  the 
addition"  of  the  20th  Sonnet.  The  Sonnet  con- 
tinues ; 

And  were  it  not  that,  through  your  cruelty, 
With  sorrow  dimmed  and  defonn'd  it  were, 
The  goodly  image  of  your  visnomy, 
Clearer  than  crystal,  would  therein  appear. 

Here  the  poet  refers  to  the  work  of  Nature 
in  him,  as  he  considers,  by  which  his  spirit  has  been 
"  dimmed  and  deform'd,"  as  he  calls  it ;  and  this,  in 
his  view,  has  operated  to  make  what  Shakespeare 
calls  the  "  separable  spite  "  in  the  36th  Sonnet,  re- 


CHAP,  v.]  THE    AMORETTI.  129 

ferring  to   the   same   dull   substance   of  the  flesh, 
meaning  the  nature-side  of  life. 

And  now,  Spenser,  as  if  he  imputed  this  "  sepa- 
rable spite  "  to  his  Lady,  the  personified  nature,  and 
not  to  the  spirit,  says : 

But  if  yourself  in  me  ye  plain  will  see, 

Remove  the  cause  by  which  your  fair  beams  darkened  be. 

That  is,  as  Shakespeare  might  have  said,  Remove 
the  dull  substance  of  the  flesh  (Sonnet  44)  which 
separates  the  inner  spirit  from  the  over-soul,  when, 

"  despite  of  space  I  would  be  brought, 
From  limits  far  remote  where  thou  dost  stay." 

The  principal  difference  in  the  view  of  the 
two  poets  lies  in  this :  that  Shakespeare  studied  to 
regard  or  understand  Nature  from  the  spirit-side, 
which  he  figured  as  a  Lovely  Boy  or  Sweet  Boy, 
for  he  uses  both  expressions ;  while  Spenser,  in  his 
contemplation  of  Nature,  had  regard  more  partic- 
ularly to  what  is  often  called  the  feminine  side  of 
life,  and  personifies  it  as  a  Lady :  or,  we  may  say 
that  Shakespeare,  though  admirably  harmonized,  as 
we  all  know,  in  both  the  intellect  and  the  affections, 
was  less  under  the  influence  of  the  affections  than 
6* 


130  REMAEKS   ON  [CHAP.  v. 

Spenser,  who  regarded  nature  principally  through 
the  affectional  or  feminine  side  of  life.  But  both 
of  the  poets  saw  the  woman  in  nature. 

To  appreciate  the  88th  Sonnet  of  the  Amoretti, 
and  other  similar  sonnets,  the  student  must  en- 
deavor to  enter  into  the  feelings  of  the  poet,  not 
upon  seeing  a  beautiful  woman,  as  charming  as  such 
a  vision  is,  but  he  should  realize,  if  possible,  a  sense 
of  Beauty  in  Nature — such  as  woman  herself  recog- 
nizes independently  of  man.  A  perfect  man  may 
indeed  be  the  highest  image  of  it  to  woman,  as  a 
perfect  woman  is  that  image  to  man. 

This  invisibly  visible  Beauty  in  Nature,  called, 
by  some,  the  present-absent,  is  that  which  fascinates 
so  many  poets — to  be  deprived  of  a  sense  of  which 
creates  so  deep  a  feeling  of  loss,  that  it  can  be  assim- 
ilated to  nothing  so  well  as  winter  as  compared 
to  summer — some  of  the  poets  going  so  far  as  to 
invoke  death  as  a  relief  from  the  dreadful  vacancy 
of  the  soul  when  not  illumined  by  the  Spirit  of 
Beauty ;  for  then  the  poet  feels  there  is  nothing  in 
this  wide  world  worth  living  for. 

Thus,  Shakespeare  says,  Sonnet  98,  referring  to 
this  very  privation,  which  he  calls  his  absence  from 
the  object  of  his  love : 


CHAP,  v.]  THE   AMOEETTI.  131 

"From  you  have  I  been  absent  in  the  spring, 
When  proud-pied  April,  dress'd  in  all  his  ttfm, 
Hath  put  a  spirit  of  youth  in  everything, 
That  heavy  Saturn  laugh'd  and  leap'd  with  him. 
Yet  nor  the  lays  of  birds,  nor  the  sweet  smell 
Of  different  flowers  in  odour  and  in  hue, 
Could  make  me  any  summer's  story  tell, 
Or  from  their  proud  lap  pluck  them  where  they  grew: 
Nor  did  I  wonder  at  the  lilies  white, 
Nor  praise  the  deep  vermilion  hi  the  rose; 
They  were  but  sweet,  but  figures  of  delight, 
Drawn  after  you, — you  pattern  of  all  those. 
Yet  seem'd  it  winter  still,  and,  you  away, 
As  with  your  shadow  I  with  these  did  play." 

In  this  Sonnet  the  visible  beauties  of  nature  are 
treated  as  but  the  shadows  of  the  Spirit  of  Beauty, 
whose  absence  from  the  poet's  soul  turns  April  into 
December,  as  expressed  in  the  97th  Sonnet  also. 

With  some  opinion  like  this  let  the  78th  Sonnet 
of  the  Amoretti  be  read : 

78.  Lacking  my  love — 

that  is,  lacking  the  sense  of  the  beauty  of  which 
we  speak — 

I  go  from  place  to  place, 
Like  a  young  fawn,   that  late  hath  lost  the  hind  ; 


132  REMARKS    ON  [CHAP.  v. 

And  seek   each  where,  where  last  I   saw  her  face, 
Whose  image  yet  I  carry  fresh  in  mind. 

This  "  image  "  is  the  poet's  sense  of  the  Beauti- 
ful, which  he  had  realized  in  nature,  whose  impres- 
sions, being  no  stronger  than  a  "  flower "  (Shakes- 
peare's Sonnet  65),  cannot  hold  permanent  posses- 
sion of  the  man  in  the  midst  of  the  million  sensuous 
influences  constantly  tending  to  distract  him,  and 
drive  the  ideal  into  nonentity — nonentity  with  re- 
spect to  the  man  himself,  though  not  with  respect 
to  nature ;  for  in  nature  it  is  permanent,  as  beauty 
is  said  to  be,  under  the  figure  of  a  lady,  in  Shelley's 
Sensitive  Plant. 

I  seek  the  fields — 

continues  Spenser — 

with    her  late  footing  signed. 

Here  the  poet  uses  the  poet's  license.  Having 
personified  the  object,  he  assumes  the  imprint  or 
impression  of  her  foot,  as,  in  the  1st  Sonnet,  he 
talks  of  lily  hands  where  there  are  no  hands  to  be 
seen: 

I  seek  the  fields  with  her  late  footing  signed  ; 
I  seek  her  bower  with  her  late  presence   decked; 


CHAP,  v.]  THE    AMOKETTI.  133 

Yet  nor  in  field   nor  bower  I  can  her  find; 
Yet  field  and  bower   are  full  of  her   aspect : 
But  when  mine   eyes  I  thereunto  direct, 
,   They  idly  back  return  to   me   again  : 
And  when  I  hope  to   see  their  true  object, 
I  find  myself  but  fed  with  fancies  vain. 

Cease  then,  mine  eyes,   to  seek  herself  to  see  ; 
And  let  my  thoughts  behold  herself  in  me. 

The  writer  has  no  need  to  be  told  how  a  young 
and  devoted  lover  comforts  his  heart  and  imagination 
by  seeking  the  object  of  his  affections  in  her  private 
walks,  feasting  his  eyes,  it  may  be,  upon  a  flower  her 
lily  hands  may  have  touched,  &c.,  &c. ;  but  he  insists 
that  this  is  more  becoming  a  young  man  in  the  bloom 
of  life  and  love,  than  to  a  youth  of  "  forty,"  the  sup- 
posed age  of  Spenser  when  the  Sonnets  were  written; 
and  he  is  sure  that  the  beautiful  realities  of  twenty 
naturally  become,  at  forty,  symbols  for  illustrating 
a  sense  of  the  permanent  in  spirit,  of  which  the  ten- 
der experiences  are  but  the  evanescent  expressions 
or  indications. 

These  experiences  of  life,  however  real  to  the 
sensuous  nature  of  man,  are  but  signs  of  a  higher 
spirit,  a  higher  nature,  properly  belonging  to  the 
island  of  which  Cynthia  is  the  queen,  whose  very 


134  REMARKS   ON  [CHAP.  v. 

reality  may  be  doubted,  indeed,  by  the  sensuous 
man ;  but  to  the  poet  the  ideal  becomes  the  true 
real,  in  which  the  sensuous  life  is  not  lost,  but 
becomes  transformed,  or  transfigured,  as  we  may 

say. 

The  46th  Sonnet  requires  special  notice.  It 
reads : 

46.  When  my  abode's  prefixed  time  is  spent, 

My  cruel  fair  straight  bids  me  wend  my  way  : 
But  then  from  heaven  most  hideous   storms   are  sent, 
As  willing  me  against  her  will  to   stay. 
Whom  then  shall  I,  or  heaven  or  her,  obey? 
The  heavens  know  best  what  is  the    best  for  me  : 
But  as  she  will,   whose  will  my  life   doth  sway, 
My  lower  heaven,   so  it  perforce  must  be. 
But  ye  high  heavens,   that  all  this   sorrow  see, 
Sith   all  your  tempests  cannot  hold  me  back, 
Assuage  your  storms ;   or  else  both  you,   and  she, 
Will  both  together  me  too  sorely  wrack. 
Enough  it  is  for  one  man  to   sustain 
The  storms  which  she  alone  on  me  doth  rain. 

The  argument  or  subject  of  this  46th  Sonnet  is 
substantially  this : 

When  the  poet  shall  have  lived  out  the  ap- 
pointed period  in  this  life,  his  "  lower  heaven," 


CHAP.  V-]  THE    AMORETTI.  135 

he  figures  his  cruel  fair,  or  personified  Nature, 
as  commanding  him  to  go  his  "way"  out  of  the 
world :  but  this  command  his  soul  is  unwilling 
to  obey,  and  is  represented  as  opposing  the  com- 
mand, and  as  crying  out  against  it,  in  what  the 
poet  calls  "  hideous  storms "  (or  passionate  out- 
cries). In  plain  words,  the  man  shrinks  from  death. 

Here  is  seen  an  opposition  between  the  law  of 
nature  (the  lady)  and  the  man's  individual  feelings 
or  wishes,  and  the  man  asks  which  he  shall  "  obey." 
He  admits  that  the  higher  spirit  knows  what  is  best 
for  him ;  but  sees  clearly — and  this  must  settle  the 
point — that  the  question  of  death  is  entirely  in  the 
hands  of  Nature,  that  is,  of  the  lady,  his  "  cruel 
fair,"  from  which  there  is  no  appeal. 

The  poet  then  calls  upon  "  high  heavens  "  to  in- 
terpose so  far,  since  there  is  no  power  to  hold  him 
back,  that  the  "  storms "  of  his  opposition  to  the 
behest  of  nature  may  be  "assuaged,"  lest,  as  he 
says,  that  both  of  them,  the  spirit  and  the  lady, 
by  bearing  too  heavily  upon  him,  should  make  a 
"  wreck  "  of  him ;  pleading  that 

Enough  it  is  for  one  man  to  sustain 
The    storms   which   she—-- 


136  REMARKS    ON  [CHAP.  ^. 

his  lady,  nature — 

should   on   him  rain. 

In  this,  as  in  nearly  all  of  the  Amoretti  Sonnets, 
nature  is  the  lady,  which,  while  she  endowed  the 
poet  with  all  of  his  great  "  riches  "  or  gifts,  was  at 
the  same  time  regarded  as  the  chief  source  of  his 
cruel  sorrows,  and  finally  of  his  death ;  which  was  to 
proceed  from  an  inexorable  command  or  law  against 
which  "  high  heaven  "  had  not  restraining  power. 

That  the  reader  may  see  the  connection  of  the 
Amoretti  with  Colin  Clouts,  we  cite  here  the  9th 
Sonnet : 

Long-while  I  sought  to  what  I  might  compare 
Those  powerful  eyes,   which  lighten  my  dark   spright: 
Yet  find  I  nought  on  earth  to  which  I   dare 
Resemble  th'   image  of  their  goodly  light : 
Not  to   the  sun ;    for  they  do  shine  by  night ; 
Nor  to  the  moon;    for  they  are  changed  never; 
Nor  to   the   stars ;    for  they   have   purer   sight ; 
Nor  to  the  fire ;  for  they   consume  not  ever ; 
Nor  to   the   lightning ;    for  they   still   persever  ; 
Nor  to  the  diamond  ;    for  they  are  more  tender ; 
Nor  unto   crystal ;    for  nought  may   them   sever ; 
Nor  unto  glass;   such  baseness  might  offend  her. 
Then  to  the  Maker's   self  they  likest  be, 
Whose  light  doth  lighten  all  that  here  we  see. 


CHAP,  v.]  THE   AMORETTI.  137 

A  parallel  to  this  Sonnet  of  Spenser's  may  be 
seen  in  Shakespeare's  18th  Sonnet: 

"  Shall  1   compare  thee   to  a  summer's  day? 
Thou   art  more  lovely  and  more  temperate: 
Kough  winds   do   shake  the  darling  buds  of  May, 
And   summer's  lease  hath   all  too   short  a  date : 
Sometime  too  hot  the   eye   of  heaven  shines, 
And   often  is  his   gold   complexion  dimm'd; 
And   every  fair  from  fair   sometime  declines, 
By   chance,   or   nature's   changing  course,   untrhnmM ; 
But  thy  eternal   summer  shall  not  fade,  H 

Nor  lose  possession  of  that   fair   thou   owest; 
Nor  shall  death   brag  thou  wander'st  in  his  shade, 
When  in  eternal  lines  to  time  thou  growest : 
So  long  as  men  can   breathe,   or   eyes   can  see, 
So  long  lives  this,   and  this  gives  life  to  thee." 

As  a  parallel,  again,  for  Shakespeare's  Sonnets, 
to  this  promise  of  eternity  secured  by  poetic  labors, 
we  cite  Spenser's  69th  Sonnet : 

The  famous  warriors  of  the  antique  world 
Us'd   trophies   to   erect  in  stately  wise; 
In  which  they  would   the  records  have   enrolled 
Of  their  great  deeds   and  valorous   emprise. 
What  trophy  then  shall  I  most   fit  devise, 
In  which   I   mav   record   the  mennorv 


138  REMARKS   ON  [OHAP.  v. 

Of  my  love's  conquest,   peerless  beauty's  prize, 
Adorn'd  with  honor,  love,   and  chastity ! 
Even  this  verse,   vowed  to  eternity, 
Shall  be  thereof  immortal  monument  ; 
And  tell  her  praise  to   all  posterity, 
That  may   admire    such  world's   rare  wonderment ; 
The  happy  purchase  of  my  glorious   spoil, 
Gotten  at  last  with  labor  and  long  toil. 

The  two  poets  loved  the  same  lady,  but  without 
envy  or  rivalry. 

By  looking  at  the  Sonnets  from  this  point  of 
view,  we  must  soon  understand  that,  in  studying 
them,  we  have  the  most  immediate  access  to  the 
poet's  actual  thoughts  of  nature  and  the  spirit ;  and 
in  the  study  itself,  in  the  cases  of  both  Shakespeare 
and  Spenser,  and  of  some  of  the  other  poets,  we  are, 
as  it  were,  holding  converse  with  their  spirits ;  while, 
on  the  other  hand,  to  suppose  these  Sonnets  ad- 
dressed to  any  mere  person,  is  not  only  to  lose  the 
truth  they  suggest,  but,  in  most  cases,  we  must  see 
both  the  writers  and  the  parties  supposed  to  be 
addressed,  in  a  very  absurd  and  ridiculous  point 
of  view. 


CHAPTER  YL 

DEAYTO^. 

[A  few  brief  remarks  on  Drayton  and  Sidney,  for  these  writers  belong 
very  clearly  to  the  mystic  school  in  some  of  their  writings.] 

To  show  the  metaphysical  character  of  Drayton's 
studies,  we  cite  the  following  Sonnet,  explaining  our 
understanding  of  it  as  we  proceed.  We  must  sup- 
pose the  poet  is  contemplatively  regarding  himself 
under  the  idea  of  the  all-embracing  unity,  a  sense  of 
which  is  seen  to  enclose  the  poet's  individuality  in 
that  of  the  whole ;  and  thus,  he  sees  himself  in  and 
out  of  God ;  and  God  as  in  and  out  of  himself.  He 
is  one  and  yet  not  one ;  two,  yet  but  one — the  mys- 
tery of  which  oppresses  him  : 

You  not  alone,  when  you  are  still  alone, 
0  God,  from  You  that  I  could  private  be, 
Since  You  one  were,  I  never  since  was  one. 

As  if  he  had  said,  Since  I  recognized  the  doctrine  of 


140  DRAYTON.  [CHAP.  vi. 

the  unity,  I  have  not  realized  my  own  individuality 
— if  You  are  All,  I  am  nothing,  &c. 

Since  You  in  me,  myself  since  out  of  me, 
Transported  from  myself  into  your  Being. 

That  is,  since  I  conceived  the  doctrine  which  affirms 
that  your  life  is  in  man  or  in  me,  I  seem  transported 
out  of  myself. 

Though  either  distant,  present  yet  to  either, 
Senseless  with  too  much  joy,  each  other  seeing, 
And  only  absent  when  we  are  together. 

Here  the  poet  seems  to  have  been  so  much  op- 
pressed with  his  sense  of  this  mystical  presence,  yel- 
absence,  of  that  which  in  some  sort  is  both  present 
and  absent,  that  he  cries  out — 

Give  me  myself,  and  take  yourself  again ; 
Devise  some  means  but  how  I  may  forsake  You. 
So  much  is  mine  that  doth  with  You  remain, 
That  taking  what  is  mine,  with  Me  I  take  You  ; 
You  do  bewitch  me  ;   0  that  I  could  fly 
From  myself,  You,  or  from  Yourself,  I. 

In  this  Sonnet  we  see  a  sort  of  Jacob's  wrestling, 
not  with  God,  indeed,  as  represented  in  Scripture, 
but  with  God's  work,  the  Image  of  his  Beauty. 


CHAP,  vi.]  DRAYTON.  141 

Shakespeare's  Sonnets,  135  and  136,  supposed  to 
be  a  mere  play  upon  his  name,  are  founded  on  the 
same  difficulty,  that  of  conceiving  the  unity  in  the 
duality. 

Then  we  see  the  poet  addressing  a  Sonnet  to  the 
"  Soul,"  full  of  Aristotle's  philosophy,  and  another  to 
what  he  calls  the  "  Shadow  " — the  visible  world  being 
regarded  as  the  shadow  of  the  invisible  soul. 

The  concluding  Sonnet  of  the  "  Ideas  "  very  well 
exhibits  the  character  or  condition  of  the  poet,  lost  as 
he  was  in  his  sense  of  the  UNITY,  having  complete 
faith  in  it,  while  yet  it  never  reached  a  positive  real- 
ization; since  that,  according  to  his  own  theory, 
would  have  annihilated  himself — a  result  which, 
however,  would  have  been  acceptable,  because  of  his 
faith ;  for  he  quite  plainly  tells  us  of  the  surrender 
of  his  heart,  while  at  the  same  time  we  easily  per- 
ceive that  his  intellect  was  not  convinced — this  sur- 
render of  the  heart  reminding  us  of  Shakespeare's 
133d  Sonnet. 

Drayton's  last  Sonnet  reads : 

Truce,  gentle  Love,  a  parley  now  I  crave ; 
Methinks  'tis  long  since  first  these  wars  begun. 

That  is,  the  poet  had  long  been  engaged  in  his  met- 


142  DKAYTOX.  [CHAP.  vi. 

aphysical  studies  into  nature,  addressed  as  his  gentle 
Love. 

Nor  thou,  [says  he,]  nor  I,  the  better  yet  can  have: 
Bad  is  the  match  where  neither  party  won. 
I  offer  the  conditions  of  fair  peace, 
My  heart  for  hostage  that  it  shall  remain  ; 
Discharge  our  forces,  here  let  malice  cease, 
So  for  my  pledge  thou  give  me  pledge  again  : 
Or  if  nothing  but  death  will  serve  thy  turn, 
Still  thirsting  for  subversion  of  my  state  ; 
Do  what  thou  canst ;  rase,  massacre,  and  burn, 
Let  the  world  see  the  utmost  of  thy  hate  : 
I  send  defiance;  since,  if  overthrown, 
Thou  vanquishing,  the  conquest  is  mine  own. 

Why  was  the  conquest  his  own  ?  Because,  in  his 
theory,  he  had  so  conceived  the  Unity  that  whatever 
might  happen  to  him  belonged  to  the  Whole,  of 
which  he  was  an  inseparable  part,  sharing  in  the 
whole. 

This  sense  of  the  supreme  claims  of  Sovereign 
Beauty  over  all  human  considerations,  is  conspicuous 
in  the  Shakespeare  Sonnets,  in  which  the  poet,  like 
Drayton,  to  use  an  Eastern  expression,  so  acknowl- 
edges his  absorption  in  the  whole,  that  no  loss  what- 
ever can  be  visited  upon  him  in  the  inferior  state,  but 


CHAP,  vi.]  DKAYTON.  143 

what  he  is  sure  to  reap  the  benefit  of  in  the  superior 
life,  which  Drayton,  like  Shakespeare,  calls  his  "  better 
part,"  regarding  it  evidently  as  his  proper  life. 
(Compare  Drayton's  44th  with  Shakespeare's  39th 
and  74th  Sonnets.) 

In  the  88th  Sonnet,  Shakespeare,  not  merely  car- 
rying out  to  the  very  extreme  the  doctrine  of 
Chaucer,  to  think  no  ill  of  his  Mistress,  and  to  excuse 
"  quickly "  whatever  may  seem  wrong,  goes  even 
beyond  Chaucer,  and  offers,  when  aggrieved  himself, 
to  take  part  and  "  fight  "  against  himself : 

88.  "  Upon  thy  part  [says  he]  I  can  set  down  a  story 

Of  faults   concealed,  wherein  I  am  attainted  ; 

That  thou,  in  losing  me,  shalt  win  much  glory: 

And  I  by  this  will  be  a  gainer  too  ; 

For  bending  all  my  loving  thoughts  on  thee, 

The  injuries  that  to  myself  I  do, 

Doing  thee  vantage,  double-vantage  me. 
Such  is  my  love,  to  thee  I  so  belong, 
That  for  thy  right  myself  will  bear  all  wrong." 

The  poet,  in  this  mystical  mode  of  writing,  is, 
in  reality,  enforcing  the  Scripture  doctrine  of  suf- 
fering for  Christ's  sake. 

The  expression,  "  for  thy  right  " — fighting,  or 
suffering  for  thy  right — signifies  for  thy  sake,  and 


144  DRAYTON.  [CHAP.  vi. 

this  involves  the  principle  of  suffering  for  Christ's 
sake  ;  for  we  must  recollect  that  the  true  Lady  in  the 
case  is  often  pictured  as  holding  the  eternal  scales 
for  distributing  even-handed  justice — and  this  is  a 
principal  office  of  the  Eternal  Son. 

Christ  historically  suffered  martyrdom  ;  but  spir- 
itually he  is  righteousness,  and  lives  forever ;  and  to 
fight  or  suffer  for  right,  or  righteousness,  is  therefore 
to  fight  or  suffer  for  Christ's  sake. 

The  same  principle  is  expressed,  in  a  varied  form, 
in  Shakespeare's  80th  Sonnet,  where  the  poet  says : 

"  If  I  be  cast  away — 

that  is,  if  I  be  lost  in  this  service  of  the  Beautiful, 
which  is  but  another  name  for  the  Good  and  the  True, 
— the  fair,  kind,  and  true  being  the  eternal  Trinity, 
according  to  the  105th  Sonnet — 

"  The  worst  was  this   [says  the  poet],  my  Love  was  my 
decay." 

And  to  die  in  the  service  of  Love  was  regarded  as  a 
religious  sacrifice — a  loss  to  the  loser's  glory. 

This  again  is  similar  to  the  conclusion  of  Dray- 
ton's  42d  Sonnet  : 


CHAP.  vi.  J  DKAYTON.  145 

I  care  not  I,  how  men  affected  be — 

i.  e.,  by  what  he  writes — meaning  to  write  in  honor 
of  the  Highest — 

I  care  not  I,  how  men  affected  be, 

Nor  who  commends  nor  discommends  my  verse  ; 

It  pleaseth  me,  if  I  my  woes  rehearse, 

And  in  my  lines  if  SHE  my  love  may  see  : 

Only  my  comfort  still  consists  in  this, 

Writing  Her  praise  I  cannot  write  amiss. 

This  again  is  paralleled  in  Shakespeare's  112th 
Sonnet : 

"What  care  I  who  calls  me  well  or  ill, 
So  you  o'ergreen  my  bad,  my  good  allow  ? 
You  are  my  all- the- world,  and  I  must  strive 
To  know  my  shames  and  praises  from  your  tongue; 
None  else  to  me,  nor  I   to  none  alive, 
That  my  steel'd  sense  or  changes,  right  or  wrong." 

Here  the  object  is  personified  as  usual,  even  as  if 
its  voice  could  be  audibly  heard ;  but  it  can  only  be 
heard,  as  in  Scripture  the  conscience  is  said  to  be 
heard — as  the  still  small  voice. 

As  a  further  evidence  of  the  metaphysical  char- 

7 


146  DBAYTON.  [CHAP.  vi. 

acter  of  Drayton's  Sonnets,  we  cite  the  18th,  ad- 
dressed 


TO    THE    CELESTIAL    NUMBERS. 

To  this  our  world,  to  learning,  and  to  Heaven, 
Three  nines  there  are,  to  every  one  a  nine, 
One    number  of  the  Earth,  the  other  both  Divine, 
One  woman  now  makes  three  odd  numbers  even. 
Nine  orders  first  of  angels  be  in  Heaven, 
Nine  Muses  do  with  learning  still  frequent, 
These  with  the  Gods  are  ever  resident. 
Nine  worthy  women  to  the  world  were  given  : 
My  worthy  one  to  these  nine  worthies  addeth, 
And  my  fair  Muse,  one  Muse  to  the  nine, 
And  my  good  angel  (in  my  soul  divine) 
With  one  more  order  these  nine  orders  gladdeth  : 
My  Muse,  my  Worthy,  and  my  Angel  then, 
Makes  every  one  of  these   three  nines  a  Ten." 

The  readers  of  Dante's  Vita  Nuova  may  see  how 
the  poet  repeatedly  and  mystically  comments  upon 
the  number  nine,  in  connection  with  the  mystic  Lady 
Beatrice,  and  may  not  find  it  difficult  to  see  the  two 
poets  in  reality  contemplating  the  same  mystery 
under  the  number  nine.  But  Spenser  is  among  the 
number  of  the  poets  who  held  to  some  similar  mys- 
tery, as  may  be  seen  in  his  74th  Sonnet,  from  which 


CHAP,  vi.]  DEAYTON.  147 

the  critics  have  inferred  a  name  for  his  lady-love, 
although,  in  fact,  the  three  Elizabeths  (in  that  Son- 
net) stand  related  to  their  respective  spirits,  as  the 
Elizabeth  of  the  Gospel  is  related  to  Mary; 
The  Sonnet  reads : 

Most  happy  letters  !  fram'd  by  skilful  trade — 

that  is,  most  happy  Sonnets;  for  the  poet  is  here  re- 
ferring to  his  own  Sonnets,  called  "  happy  leaves  "  in 
the  first  Sonnet ;  said  to  be  framed  by  a  skilful  poet, 
and  called  "  love-learned  letters"  in  the  43d  Sonnet — 

Most  happy  letters  !  fram'd  by  skilful  trade, 
With  which  that  happy  name  was  first  designed, 
The  which  three  times  thrice  happy  hath  me  made, 
With  gifts   of  body,   fortune,  and  of  mind — 

which  are  only  other  words  for  body,  soul,  and 
spirit — 

The  first  my  being  to  me  gave  by  kind,  [i.  e.,  by  nature,] 
From  Mother's  womb  deriv'd  by  due  descent  ; 
The  second  is  my  Sovereign  Queen  most  kind, 
That  honor  and  large  riches  to  me  lent — 

— "  lent,"  says  the  poet,  and  we  feel  authorized  to 
interpret  the  word  in  harmony  with  its  use  in  the 
4th  Sonnet  of  Shakespeare.*  Here  may  be  a 

*  Vide  Kemarks  on  Shakespeare's  Sonnets,  p.  77. 


148  DRAYTON.  [CHAP.  vi. 

stumbling-block  to  most  readers,  who  may  pei 
severingly  insist  that  the  English  Queen  was 
really  referred  to,  though  history  does  not  confirm  us 
in  the  belief  that  she  ever  overloaded  Spenser  with 
either  honors  or  riches ;  and  we  prefer  to  adhere  to 
the  general  theory,  that  Spenser  means  to  celebrate 
what  he  no  doubt  felt  as  a  fact,  that  nature,  the 
Elizabeth  or  midwife  to  all  of  us,  had  not  only  given 
him  a  body,  but  had  given  him  also  an  honorable 
distinction  by  endowing  his  soul  with  riches. 

"  The  third,  my  Love,  my  life's  last  ornament, 
By  whom  my  spirit  out  of  dust  was  raised: 
To  speak  her  praise  and  glory  excellent, 
Of  all  alive  most  worthy  to  be  praised. 
Ye  three  Elizabeths !   for  ever  live, 
That  three  such  graces  did  unto  me  give." 

To  those  who  can  catch  the  real  meaning  of  the 
poet,  these  three  Elizabeths  are  still  alive,  and  will 
"for  ever  live,"  as  the  three  Marys  will  live  for 
ever,  in  a  deeper  sense  than  any  history  can  make 
immortal,  for  it  is  they  who  give  immortality  to  the 
history. 

We  must  repeat,  that  because  Beauty,  the 
Sovereign  Beauty  which  the  poets  see,  is  really  ex- 


CHAP,  vi.]  SIDNEY.  149 

pressed  in  nature,  the  efforts  of  the  poets  to  indicate 
it  constantly  lead  to  the  use  of  such  imagery  as  often 
deludes  the  reader  into  the  belief  that  the  mere 
imagery  was  intended ;  and  very  few  readers  allow 
their  love  of  ease  to  be  disturbed  by  a  requirement 
to  observe  how  impossible  it  is  to  reconcile  a  large 
number  of  the  sonnets,  scattered  in  the  works  of  the 
several  poets,  to  the  notion  of  their  having  been 
addressed  to  a  mortal  woman. 

Examples  are  without  number :  we  take  one  from 


the  49th  Sonnet  in  the  collection  entitled  Astrophel 
and  Stella. 

As  usual,  the  biographers  of  Sidney  insist  that 
these  Sonnets  were  addressed  to  a  veritable  woman, 
whose  name  by  marriage  became  Lady  Rich — 
though  we  must  believe  that  Sidney's  devotion  to 
Stella  had  the  riches  of  the  Spirit  in  view,  ac- 
cording to  St.  Paul's  sense — but  without  rendering 
obedience  to  what,  in  his  1st  Sonnet,  he  calls  "  step- 
dame  Study's  blows."  These  Sonnets  of  Sidney, 
like  those  of  other  writers  of  the  age  of  Sidney,  were 
not  addressed  to  any  real  person,  but  represent  the 


150  SIDNEY.  [CHAP.  vi. 

studies  of  Sidney  into  the  mysteries  of  Nature  under 
the  usual  figures.     The  49th  Sonnet  reads  thus  : 

49.  I   on  my  horse,    and   Love   on  me,  doth  try 

Our  horsemanships,  while,  by  strange  work,  I  prove 

A  horseman  to  my  horse,  a  horse  to  Love  ; 

And  now  man's  wrongs  in  me,  poor  beast,   descry. 

The  rein  wherewith  my  rider   doth  me  tie, 

Are  humbled  thoughts,   which  bit  of  rev'rence  move, 

Curb'd  in  with  fear,  but  with  gilt  boss  above 

Of    hope,   which  makes  it  seem  fair  to  the  eye. 

The  wand  is  Will;   thou,  Fancy,  saddle  art, 

Girt  fast  by   Memory  ;   and  while   I  spur 

My  horse,  he   spurs,   with   sharp   desire,   my  heart : 

He  sits  me  fast,  however  I  do  stir, 

And  now  hath  me  to  his  hand   so  right, 
That  in  the  menage  myself  takes   delight. 

How  can  any  reader  make  this  circus-like  repre- 
sentation, if  taken  literally,  harmonize  with  the  notion 
that  the  poet  is  addressing  a  lady  ?  In  the  picture, 
we  have  a  horse,  the  poet  upon  the  horse,  and  the 
poet's  lady-love,  in  some  inexplicable  manner  upon 
the  poet  himself.  This  is  the  picture  taken  liter- 
ally. 

Let  us  cut  this  problem  through  its  centre  by 
referring  to  the  common  notion  of  Body,  Soul,  and 


CHAP,  vi.]  SIDNEY.  151 

Spirit,  as  the  triple  object  in  the  poet's  thoughts, 
figuring  the  Body,  as  the  horse  (called  a  "  beast "  in 
Shakespeare's  50th  Sonnet),  while  the  poet  figures 
the  Soul  as  himself;  and  now,  above  all,  he  conceives 
the  Spirit,  which  is  figured  by  the  lady-love — the 
figure  of  the  Divine  Spirit,  universally  expressed  in 
all  things,  for  which  reason  it  cannot  be  represented 
by  anything  in  heaven,  on  earth,  or  in  the  waters 
under  the  earth. 

If  the  reader  but  once  catches  a  glimpse  of  this 
doctrine,  and  will  examine  the  Sonnets  in  its  light,  he 
will  be  astonished  to  find  how  readily  they  will  give 
out  their  sense,  by  which  the  reader  may  find  him- 
self suddenly  as  if  in  intimate  association  with  the 
most  devotional  men  of  past  ages,  who,  unshackled 
in  their  own  spirits,  have  laid  no  burthens  to  be 
blindly  borne  by  their  followers — except  that  of 
mistaking  a  Divine  for  a  human  love  ;  by  which  the 
truth  loses  nothing,  though  the  reader  may  indeed 
lose  much  by  wanting  what  are  called  lovers'  eyes, 
or  eyes  for  the  Beautiful. 

The  acute  reader,  once  in  the  vein  for  this  sort  of 
study,  can  hardly  fail  to  see  that  most  of  the  Sonnets 
of  the  period  to  which  we  refer  are  poetic  studies 


152  SIDNEY.  [CHAP.  vi. 

into  the  mysteries  of  nature,  figured  as  a  lady,  in 
whose  service  it  was  happiness  to  die. 

We  do  not  by  any  means  deny,  however,  that 
inasmuch  as  the  Beauty  of  Nature  is  expressed  in  all 
things,  the  sonnet-poets  are  perpetually  running  into 
representations  of  the  special,  when  the  real  design  is 
universal :  hence  the  argument,  drawn  from  the  mere 
language  of  the  sonnets,  which  we  are  willing  to 
admit  was  in  some  cases  addressed  to  women  indeed, 
is  almost  constantly  plausible,  that  the  special  only 
was  intended  ;  and  to  the  young,  often  carried  into 
captivity  by  the  sweet  word  Love,  the  argument  will 
in  general  appear  sound. 

But  when  we  see  Petrarch,  the  patriarch  of  son- 
net-poetry, making  love-sonnets  in  extreme  old  age, 
in  appearance  addressed  to  a  married  woman  whose 
husband  was  living,  do  we  not  observe  the  incon- 
gruity, especially  when  he  ventures  to  compare  his 
lady  to  no  less  a  being  than  the  Son  of  God  ? 

Let  the  reader  remember  that  some  divines  and 
many  philosophers  have  called  the  World  the  Son  of 
God,  as  Israel  is  called  in  Scripture  the  first-born  of 
God,  and  he  may  finally  pierce  the  cloud  of  words, 
and  discover  the  real  ground  in  Nature  for  a  vast 
mass  of  mystical  writing  about  something ,  said  to  be 


[CHAP.  vi.  SIDNEY.  153 

directly  under  the  eyes  of  all  men,  who  yet,  the  mys- 
tics say,  do  not  understand  what  they  see.  Life, 
indeed,  is  not  to  be  understood  in  its  origin,  or  as  a 
caused  thing ;  but  through  experience  and  observa- 
tion, crowned  with  the  divine  blessing,  man  may 
understand  something  of  life. 

Chaucer,  in  the  poem  entitled  The  Book  of  the 
Duchesse,  in  reference  to  his  really  nameless  Lady, 
intending  simply  to  designate  her  purity,  has  used 
the  figurative  (French)  word  Blanche,  upon  which 
the  editors  have  made  the  grave  conclusion  that  the 
reference  was  to  the  wife  of  John  of  Gaunt,  whose 
name,  it  appears,  was  Blanche.  We  are  very  con- 
fident that  the  inference  is  unfounded;  and  from 
that  error,  and  similar  mistakes  with  regard  to 
some  other  indications  found  in  the  mystic  writings 
of  the  poets,  especially  the  gross  inference  from  the 
Shakespeare  Sonnets,  we  feel  disposed  to  regard  the 
allusions  in  the  Sidney  Sonnets,  seemingly  to  the 
name  Rich,  as  having  no  reference  to  a  person  of 
that  name.  But,  if  a  real  person  in  this  case  was 
intended,  we  should  desire  to  look  upon  the  particu- 
lar Sonnets  in  which  the  name  occurs  as  exceptional 
or  as  not  belonging  legitimately  to  the  general  idea 
7* 


154  SIDNEY.  [CHAP.  vi. 

illustrated  in  the  Sonnets ;  in  which  we  feel  bound 
to  consider  the  author  of  the  Defence  of  Poetry  as 
designing  to  honor  what  he  calls  Immortal  Beauty 
and  Immortal  Goodness. 

If  not  at  liberty  to  do  this,  we  must  make  large 
deductions  from  the  extravagant  and  universal 
praise  bestowed  by  all  of  Sidney's  contemporaries 
upon  the  model  knight  of  the  Elizabethan  age,  who 
can  hardly  be  excused  for  perseveringly  addressing 
love-sonnets  to  the  wife  of  another  man — not  content 
with  the  expression  of  a  supposed  Platonic  admira- 
tion, but  seeking  a  positive  possession,  in  total  dis 
regard  of  the  sacred  marital  rights  of  the  legitimate 
husband. 

In  justice  to  the  memory  of  Sydney,  let  us  be 
willing  at  least  to  seek  a  symbolical  interpretation, 
having  truth  in  view  in  the  first  instance,  with  the 
purpose,  also,  of  defending  the  interests  of  humanity 
and  the  dignity  of  literature. 


CHAPTER  VIL 

CHAUCER 

LIVED  at  a  time  when  hermetic  writing  was  com- 
mon among  scholars  scattered  all  over  Europe, 
communicating  with  each  other  usually  in  the  Latin 
language.  He  is  well  known  to  have  been  the 
friend  of  Wickliffe,  and  was,  in  spirit,  a  Reformer. 
He  was  intimate  with  the  Italian  scholars  of  his 
day,  who  were  also  imbued  with  sentiments  which 
led  to  the  Reformation.  He  thought  well  enough 
of  the  hermetic  poem  of  William  de  Lorris  to 
translate  into  English  a  considerable  part  of  the 
Romaunt  of  the  Rose,  one  of  the  most  ingenious 
pieces  of  Hermetic  writing  extant — to  those  who 
understand  it ;  and  although  the  Canon's  Tale  was 
by  many  considered  as  having  been  levelled  against 
alchemists,  it  w£s  known  by  alchemists  themselves 
to  have  been  written  in  their  interest,  or  rather  in 
the  interest  of  the  mysterious  Truth  which  they 


156  CHAUCER.  [CHAP.  vn. 

sought  under  the  figure  of  searching  for  the  Philo- 
sopher's Stone — the  Rose  of  the  Romaunt. 

We  have  not  space  for  pointing  out  the  evi- 
dences of  hermetic  writing  in  Chaucer,  but  will 
refer  to  a  single  feature,  noticed  by  Mrs.  Jameson  in 
her  Loves  of  the  Poets,  who,  by  the  way,  relying 
upon  the  sonnets  and  poems  of  the  poets  for  bio- 
graphical materials,  was  entirely  deceived,  and 
really  knew  nothing  in  many  instances  of  the  poets 
she  assumed  to  write  about. 

"  In  the  earliest  of  Chaucer's  poems  [says  Mrs. 
Jameson],  '  The  Court  of  Love,'  he  describes  him- 
self as  enamored  of  a  fair  mistress,  whom,  in  the 
style  of  the  time,  he  calls  Rosial,  and  himself  Philo- 
genet." 

It  would  be  quite  out  of  the  question  to  make 
decisive  inferences  from  the  use  of  the  mere  name, 

Rosial;  but  one  who  understands  the  Romaunt  of 

i 

the  Hose,  with  its  two  rich  jewels  at  the  bottom  of 
a  wen — where  Truth  is  said  to  be — will  naturally 
suspect  a  symbolic  purpose  in  the  adoption  of  the 
name,  JRosial,  by  Chaucer,  as  that  of  his  mistress ; 
and  the  word  Philo-genet^  the  poet's  assumed  name 
as  a  lover  of  the  fair  lady,  is  also  extremely 
suggestive  to  a  hermetic  student,  as  pointing  to  the 


CHAP.  vii.J  CHAUCER.  157 

genesis  or  genetical  state  of  the  poet's  own  soul. 
Mrs.  Jameson  continues : 

"  The  lady  is  described  as  '  sprung  of  noble  race 
and  high,'  with  '  angel  visage,'  c  golden  hair,'  and 
eyes  orient  and  bright,  with  figure  *  sharply  slender,' 
'so  that  from  the  head  unto  the  foot  all  is  sweet 
womanhood,'  and  arrayed  in  a  vest  of  green,  with 
her  tresses  braided  with  silk  and  gold.  She  treats 
him  at  first  with  disdain,  and  the  poet  swoons  away 
at  her  feet:  satisfied  by  this  convincing  proof  of 
his  sincerity,  she  is  induced  to  accept  his  homage, 
and  becomes  his  '  liege  lady,'  and  the  sovereign  of 
his  thoughts." 

All  this  might  happen  in  the  visible  world  ;  but 
it  corresponds  precisely  with  the  representations  of 
the  mystics,  having  in  view  the  Queen  of  the  Isle 
in  Borderie's  poem,  recited  in  the  introductory 
chapter  of  this  work. 

"  In  this  poem,"  continues  Mrs.  Jameson,  "  which 
is  extremely  wild,  and  has  come  down  to  us  in 
an  imperfect  shape,  Chaucer  quaintly  admonishes  all 
lovers,  that  an  absolute  faith  in  the  perfection 
of  their  mistress,  and  obedience  to  her  slightest 
caprice,  are  among  the  first  duties ;  that  they  must 
in  all  cases  believe  their  lady  faultless ;  that 


158  CHAUCER.  [c 

'In  everything,  she  doth  but  as  she  should; 
Construe  the  best,  believe  no  tales  new, 
For  many  a  lie  is  told  that  seemeth  full  true ; 
But  think  that  she,  so  bounteous  and  so  fair, 
Could  not  be  false ;  imagine  this  alway. 


And  though  thou  seest  a  fault  right  at  thine  eye, 
Excuse  it  quick,  and  gloss  it  prettily.' 

"  Nor  are  they  [says  Mrs.  Jameson],  to  presume 
on  their  own  worthiness,  nor  to  imagine  it  possible 
they  can  earn 

"By  right  her  mercy,  nor  of  equity, 
But  of  her  grace  and  womanly  pity." 

"  There  is,  however  [continues  Mrs.  Jameson,]  no 
authority  for  supposing  that  at  the  time  this  poem 
was  written,  Chaucer  really  aspired  to  the  hand  of 
any  lady  of  superior  birth,  or  was  very  seriously  in 
love ;  he  was  then  about  nineteen,  and  had  probably 
selected  some  fair  one,  according  to  the  custom 
of  his  age,  to  be  his  'fancy's  queen,'  and  in  the 
same  spirit  of  poetical  gallantry,  he  writes  to  do 
her  honor ;  he  says  himself, 

*  My  intent  and  all  my  busy  care 
Is  for  to  write  this  treatise  as  I  can, 


CHAP,  viz.]  CHAUCER.  159 

TJnto  my  Ladie,  stable,  true,  and  sure; 
Faithful  and  kind  since  first  that  she  began, 
Me  to  accept  in  service  as  her  man; 
To  her  be  all  the  pleasures  of  this  book, 
That  when  her  like,  she  may  it  read  and  look.' 

"  Mixed  up  with  all  this  gallantry  and  refinement 
[says  Mrs.  Jameson],  are  some  passages  inconceivably 
absurd  and  gross ;  but  such  were  those  times, — at 
once  rude  and  magnificent — an  odd  mixture  of  cloth 
of  frieze  and  cloth  of  gold  ! " 

This  is  Mrs.  Jameson's  account  of  Chaucer's 
Rosial,  and  of  the  laws  of  courtship  as  prescribed 
for  all  lovers,  who  are  required  to  think  their  mis- 
tresses absolutely  perfect,  while  the  lovers  are  to 
assume  no  merit  whatever  as  proper  to  themselves. 

Lovers,  without  laws  so  gravely  announced,  are 
sufficiently  apt  to  think  well  of  their  mistresses  in 
the  flesh,  even  to  the  point  of  losing  all  sense 
of  that  unseen  perfection,  which  Spenser,  following 
Plato,  assures  us  does  really  exist,  and  which  we 
think  was  the  object  in  view  of  Chaucer  in  setting 
forth  the  laws  of  Love. 

After  what  we  have  said  of  this  subject  in 
connection  with  Shakespeare,  Spenser,  Prayton,  an<J 


160  CHAUCER.  [CHAP.  TII. 

Sidney,  it  would  be  too  great  a  tax  to  attempt  to 
show  that,  in  the  mind  of  Chaucer,  Rosial  is  a  rep- 
resentative figure,  and  stands  for  a  combination  of 
virtues  which  the  poet  honors  under  her  name,  as 
fidelity,  firmness,  truth,  and  goodness — beautiful  vir- 
tues in  either  sex,  but  when  conceived  in  their  unity, 
become  the  object  of  all  that  Mystic  Love  which 
forms  the  body  of  the  mystic  writings  preparatory 
to  the  Reformation,  in  which  Love  signifies  religion, 
and  which  was  chiefly  addressed  to  Her  whose  ways 
are  everlasting  commandments  (Ecclesiasticus  i.  5). 

It  is  something  in  the  direction  we  are  pointing 
when  we  see  the  prevalence  of  that  sort  of  Erotic 
literature  prior  to  the  Reformation;  and  see  com- 
paratively nothing  of  it  in  these  days.  To  what 
is  this  owing  ?  The  answer  is  not  that  human 
nature  has  changed,  but — and  this  tells  the  story — 
the  stake  is  no  longer  an  argument  against  the 
freedom  of  opinion. 

It  is  highly  interesting  to  discover  that  the 
leading  minds  of  the  Middle  Ages,  if  we  judge  by 
such  men  as  Chaucer,  and  others  of  his  school,  were 
Reformers,  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word;  but  it 
would  be  more  interesting  still,  if  we  could  discover 
the  doctrine,  which  underlies  the  external  mode 


CHAP,  vi   ]  CHAUCEE.  161 

of  writing  so  mysteriously  about  Love.  The  object 
we  see  is  almost  always  a  Lady  with  divine  virtues 
or  attributes, — such  as  the  imagination  delights  to 
picture  in  one  who  may  be  conceived  the  Queen 
of  Heaven. 

If  the  reader  will  suppose  a  screen  in  front  of 
him,  behind  which  he  imagines  the  PERFECT  or 
Perfection,  conceived  as  a  Lady,  the  embodiment 
of  that  perfection,  and  then  seek  to  penetrate  the 
screen,  with  the  idea  that  it  can  only  be  done 
by  the  grace  of  the  Lady,  who  never  exercises  that 
grace  but  upon  the  condition  that  the  seeker  comes 
into  conformity  with  her  nature  by  obedience  to  her 
laws,  which  are  enigmatically  written  or  pictured  on 
the  screen  itself, — and  then  figure  his  hopes  of  suc- 
ces  by  her  smiles  and  his  fears  of  failure  by  her 
frowns,  he  will  have  the  elements  which  enter  into 
a  large  mass  of  Middle  Age  writings  on  the  Mystic 
Love  ;  and  may,  to  some  extent,  enter  into  an  under- 
standing of  the  mystery,  by  considering  visible 
nature  as  the  screen,  and  the  spirit  of  nature  as  the 
Lady.  If,  in  place  of  the  screen,  we  interpose  a 
book  purporting  to  give  an  account  of  either  the 
screen  or  of  what  is  behind  it,  we  shall  see  the  same 
philosophy,  provided  the  book  is  accepted  as  an  in- 


162  CHAUCER.  [CHAP,  vii, 

terpreter  of  the  screen,  and  not  as  the  screen  itself, 
nor  as  the  Lady  herself. 

We  may  complete  the  programme  by  regarding 
the  spirit  as  masculine  and  the  visible  as  feminine, 
and  see  in  man  the  image  of  both,  himself  the 
pilgrim  on  a  journey  of  discovery,  under  the  re- 
quirement to  come  into  harmony  with  eternal  law. 

At  the  commencement  of  the  journey  the  man 
sees  the  screen,  which  Spenser  figures  by  the  spotted 
hide  of  the  Panther  (Sonnet  53) ;  or  he  sees  two 
things  so  intermixed  that  he  can  hardly  distinguish 
the  "  golden  tresses "  of  the  Lady  from  the  "  golden 
net"  in  which  they  are  attired  (Sonnet  37). 

These  two  things,  the  tresses  and  the  golden  net, 
present  one  great  difficulty  to  the  student.  At  first 
they  seem  quite  distinct  from  each  other,  and  the 
pilgrim  with  difficulty  understands  that  the  two  are 
not,  in  fact,  so  different  from  each  other  as  they  ap- 
pear, and  at  length  they  so  merge  into  each  other  as 
that  each  becomes  the  other  and  the  two  become  One. 

This  One  is  the  Mystery :  and  that  Mystery  is 
in  the  student  himself,  and  is  recognized  when  he 
attains  to  the  Pythagorean  self-knowledge. 

But  at  this  point  the  student  is  no  longer  him- 
self. He  passes  into  the  absolute  self-denial,  or 


CHAP,  vii.]  CHAUCER.  163 

denial  of  himself;  but  so  finds  himself  in  the  whole 
that  all  "  difference "  is  negated.  He  is  then  pre- 
pared to  understand  much  of  the  hermetic  mysti- 
cism, and  will  see  the  force  of  the  105th  Sonnet  of 
Shakespeare : 

"  Let  not  my  love  be  call'd  idolatry, 

Nor  my  beloved  as  an  idol  show, 

Since  all  alike  my  songs  and  praises  be 

To  one,  of  one,  still  such,  and  ever  so. 

Kind  is  my  love  to-day,  to-morrow  kind, 

Still  constant  in  a  wondrous  excellence; 

Therefore  my  verse,  to  constancy  confined, 

One  thing  expressing,  leaves  out  difference. 

Fair,  kind,  and  true,  is  all  my  argument, — 

Fair,  kind,  and  true,  varying  to  other  words; 

And  hi  this  change  is  my  invention  spent, 

Three  themes  in  one,  which  wondrous  scope  affords. 
Fair,  kind,  and  true,  have  often  liv'd  alone, 
Which  three,  till  now,  never  kept  seat  in  one." 

This  notion  of  the  screen,  with  the  Lady  behind 
it,  conceived  as  the  Perfect — the  Beautiftil,  the  Good, 
and  the  True — has  this  special  philosophy  to  recom- 
mend it — that,  if  any  one  conceives  the  Beauty  and 
seeks  its  smiles  by  a  studied  conformity  with  the  high- 
est conceivable  perfection,  he  must,  by  the  law  of  his 
own  spirit,  evolve  from  himself  the  highest  perfec- 


164  CHAUCER.  [ 


CHAP.  VII. 


tion  of  which  he  is  capable ;  and  in  the  end  he  may- 
discover  the  unity  of  his  own  better  spirit  with  that 
of  the  Lady  herself;  and  then  the  screen  itself  is  seen 
to  be  but  the  "  seemly  raiment "  of  the  seeker's  own 
heart,  according  to  the  22d  Sonnet  of  Shakespeare. 

The  author  of  these  remarks  has  not  attempted 
a  general  criticism  or  a  general  notice  of  the  poets — 
not  even  of  those  he  has  especially  named.  He  de- 
sires to  show  that  some  of  the  great  poets,  whose 
names  adorn  English  literature,  have  elements  of 
mysticism  in  their  writings,  to  be  explained  on  the 
general  ground  that  they  made  nature  a  distinct 
object  of  study,  under  the  figure  of  a  perfect  Lady 
— not  simply  as  visible,  but  as  being  double,  visible 
and  invisible,  the  two  being  the  mystic  ONE. 

Chaucer's  minor  poems,  on  a  close  examination, 
will  show  the  truth  of  this  view. 

We  do  not  feel  called  upon,  for  our  purpose,  to 
go  into  minute  details  in  proof  of  this  position,  and 
will  merely  refer  the  reader  to  the  description  of  the 
"  schippe  "  (ship)  in  Chaucer's  dream,  which  needed 
neither  "  mast  nor  rudder,  nor  master  for  the  gover- 
nance," &c.  ;  and  then,  by  considering  that  the 
dream  takes  place  in  an  isle  —  remembering  the 


CHAP,  vii.]  CHAUCER.  165 

description  of  the  ship  in  Colin  Clouts  in  imitation 
of  Chaucer — and  he  must  soon  see  the  mystic  queen 
of  the  poets,  as  the  proper  subject  of  the  poem. 

The  student  will  see  the  same  Lady  in  the  Book 
of  the  Duchess.  In  this  latter  poem  the  man  in 
mourning  requires,  as  a  condition  upon  which  he 
will  tell  his  story,  that  the  hearer  shall 

"  hooly  with  all  his  wytte, 


Do  his  intente  to  herken  hitte." 

This  is  simply  a  caution  from  the  poet  himself  to 
the  reader,  that  he  will  give  his  entire  attention  to 
the  story,  in  order  to  understand  it,  thereby  plainly 
warning  us  of  its  mystic  character. 

The  story  of  the  man  in  black  commences — 

"  Hit  happed  that  I  come  an  a  deye 
Into   a  place"  &c. 

This  place  is  the  inner  man ;  the  scene  of  the 
story,  which  has  no  more  to  do  with  John  of  Gaunt 
than  with  Jack  the  Giant-killer,  although  critics 
have  taken  great  pains  to  connect  the  story  with 
that  nobleman  and  his  lady. 

The  poet,  as  in  Colin  Clouts,  makes  a  journey 
into  spiritual  life,  and  figures  the  recognized  inward 
principles  as  the  "  fairest  company  of  ladies  "  that 


166  CHAUCER.  [CHAP.  vn. 

ever  any  man  with  eye  had  seen  together  in  one 
place.  (We  paraphrase  for  the  convenience  of  the 
reader.)  -  The  poet  does  not  know  whether  he  was 
led  to  the  "place"  by  accident  or  by  grace,  &c. 
Among  the  ladies — meaning  inward  principles  of 
life — the  man  saw  one  that  was  "  like  none  of  the 
rest," 

"  For  I  dare  swear   [says   he],   without  doubt, 
That  as  the  summer's   sun  bright 
Is  fairer,   clearer,    and   hath  more  light 
Than  any  other  planet  hi  heaven, 
The  moon,   or  the   stars   seven  ; 
For  all  the  world,  so   had  she 
Surmounted  them  all  in  beauty 
Of  manner,   and  of  comeliness, 
Of  stature,   and  of  so  well-set  gladness  ; 
Of  goodleyhede  [goodness],  and  so   well  beseye  ; 
In  short,   what  shall  I   say  ? 

By  God,  and  by  his  halwes  twelve  [twelve  apostles] 
It  was  my  sweet,   right   all   herself." 

The  Lady  is  then  minutely  described,  and  is  no 
other  than  the  mystic  queen  of  the  poets,  the  Cyn- 
thia of  Colin  Clouts.  That  she  is  represented  as 
having  died  in  the  Book  of  the  Duchess,  is  only  a 
figure  for  the  sense  of  deprivation  which  visits  the 


CHAP,  vii.]  CHAUCER.  167 

poetic  soul  when  its  consciousness  of  inward  truth 
and  beauty  is  obscured.  Herbert  tells  us  of  the 
effect  in  the  poem  already  cited  : 

"  0  what  a  damp   and  shade 
Doth  me  invade  ! 
No  stormy  night 
Can  so  afflict,    or  so  affright, 
As  thy  eclipsed  light." 

It  is  not  out  of  place  in  this  connection  to  re- 
mind the  reader  of  the  doctrine  that  heaven  is  in 
man,  according  to  Scripture ;  and  whether  figured 
as  a  Lady  conceived  as  perfect,  or  as  the  Immanuel 
himself,  the  result  upon  the  inquiring  soul  will  be 
the  same.  If  this  is  thought  to  be  too  grave  a 
subject  to  be  thus  introduced,  let  the  reader  perceive 
in  this  the  reason,  or  one  of  the  reasons,  why  poets 
have  written  so  mystically  about  it  in  dreams,  as 
may  be  seen  in  most  of  Chaucer's  minor  poems. 

Until  pointed  out,  the  general  reader  can  scarcely 
be  aware  of  the  extent  to  which  Scripture  truth  is 
appropriated  by  Chaucer  and  other  poets,  yet  almost 
always  in  the  mystic  mode  of  writing. 

Thus,  in  the  Flower  and  the  Leaf,  Chaucer  de- 
scribes the  narrow  way  which  leadeth  unto  life 
(Matt.  vii.  14),  as  follows.  In  a  somewhat  dis- 


168  CHAUCER.  [CHAP.  vii. 

turbed  state  of  the  spirit,  he  describes  himself  as 
walking  through  marvellous  scenery — the  world  • 

"  And,   at  the  last,   a  path   of  little  brede 
I  found,   that  greatly  had  not  used   be ; 
For  it  forgrowen   was  with  grass   and  weede, 
That  well  unneth  a  wighte  might  it  see : 
Thought   I,    *  This   path   some   whider  goth,    parde ! ' 
And   so  I  followed,    till  it  me  brought 
To  right  a  pleasant  herber,   well   wrought,"  &c. 

Now  the  arbor  to  which  the  poet  was  brought 
was  still  the  man  (sometimes  described  as  a  ship), 
and  is  said  to  have  been  so  constructed  (surrounded 
by  a  hedge,  as  it  is  called),  that  no  one  from  with- 
out could  see  whether  "  there  were  any  wight  within 
or  no ;  but  one  within  might  perceive  all  that  there 
was  with  out  e,  in  the  field,"  &c. 

This  is  simply  the  poet's  mode  of  indicating  man 
as  the  subject  of  the  poem ;  and  in  this  Flower  and 
the  Leaf,  the  chief  subject  of  contemplation  is  IMMOR- 
TALITY, under  the  emblem  of  the  Daisy  (or  the  Mar- 
guerette). 

The  general  reader  does  not  usually  know  what 
he  misses  in  the  reading  of  Chaucer,  by  not  recog- 
nizing the  mystical  elements  pervading  his  poems, 


CHAP,  vii.]  CHAUCER.  169 

and  more  especially  by  not  understanding  that 
he  carries  the  secret  in  himself,  where  heaven  is 
said  to  be. 

The  Cuckoo  and  the  Nightingale  is  one  of  the 
most  easily  understood  of  the  smaller  poems  of 
Chaucer,  and  one  of  the  most  beautiful.  Like  most 
of  the  minor  poems  of  Chaucer,  it  is  allegorical ;  the 
Nightingale  being  a  figure  for  all  that  is  good  in 
life,  while  the  Cuckoo,  as  usual,  figures  whatever  is 
opposite  to  it — a  disturbing  evil. 

In  this  poem  Mr.  Bell  finds  occasion  for  a  pointed 
note  at  page  221  (vol.  iv.),  in  these  words : 

"  Thus,  in  the  Court  of  Love  and  the  Assembly  of  Foules, 
the  birds  are  represented  as  worshipping  Nature,  the  God  of 
love." 

This  object,  here  called  the  God  of  Love,  is  no 
other  than  the  same  Nature  when  figured  as  a  per- 
fect lady,  to  whom  the  lover  is  said  to  owe  entire 
obedience,  according  to  the  injunction  already  re^ 
cited  from  the  Court  of  Love. 

This  object,  when  figured  as  a  person,  is  gene- 
rally represented  either  as  masculine  or  as  feminine, 
although  in  some  few  instances  it  is  referred  to  as  a 
sacred  object  under  another  name.  In  the  20th 


170  CHAUCER.  [CHAP.  vii. 

Sonnet  of  Shakespeare  the  two  natures  are  addressed 
as  one — the  master-mistress  of  the  poet's  love. 

When  mystic  writers  refer  to  Nature  as  perfect, 
they  always  mean  perfect  in  respect  to  its  spirit, 
which  is  regarded  as  One,  ever  the  "  Same,"  and 
incapable  of  change.  But  they  never  say  this  in  a 
physical  or  material  sense,  for  the  poets  are  the 
living  Nightingales  of  the  human  race,  to  whom  a 
mere  materialist  is  a  Cuckoo — a  bird  of  evil  omen. 


CHAPTER 

WE  find  a  very  perfect  example  of  the  hermetic 
poet  in 

CAKEW. 

This  poet  addressed  many  of  his  poems  to  CELIA; 
and  in  Celia  we  see  Cynthia — the  Cynthia  of  Colin 
Clouts  and  of  the  poet  Drayton ;  and  we  see  also 
the  Rosalind  or  Rosial  of  Chaucer  in  the  same  lady. 

It  is  not  known,  says  Mrs.  Jameson,  following 
the  statements  of  others,  who  Carew's  Celia  was : 
and  it  does  not  seem  to  have  occurred  to  any  one 
that,  like  Shakespeare's  "lovely  boy,"  she  might 
have  been  of  the  mystic  tribe;  but  Lord  Clarendon, 
probably  knowing  as  little  of  Carew  as  of  other 
poets  with  their  mystical  or  mythical  loves,  does  not 
hesitate  to  record  as  history  the  mere  suppositions  of 
others  about  the  life  and  latter  years  of  the  poet, 
who  was,  we  have  no  reason  to  doubt,  as  pure  a 


172  CAREW.  [CHAP.  vm. 

Christian  as  Spenser  shows  himself  to  have  been  in 
Colin  Clouts  and  elsewhere  in  his  writings. 

We  read  of  a  certain  lady  in  Ecclesiasticus  (iv. 
16-18),  worthy  of  all  love,  and  who  might  well  be 
regarded  as  the  very  object  of  the  mystical  poets  in 
most  of  what  they  write  of  Rosalind,  &c. : 

Ecclus.  iv.  16 :  If  a  man  commit  himself  unto  her,  he  shall 
inherit  her ;  and  his  generation  shall  hold  her  in  possession. 

17.  For  at  the  first  she  will  walk  with  him  by  crooked  ways, 
and  bring  fear  and  dread  upon  him,  and  torment  him  with  her 
discipline,  until  she  may  trust  his  soul  and  try  him  by  her  laws — 

and  these  laws,  we  are  told,  chap.  i.  5,  are  everlast- 
ing commandments — 

18.  Then    will  she    return   the    straight  waj  unto   him,  and 
comfort  him,  and  show  him  her  secrets. 

19.  But  if  he  go  wrong  she  will  forsake  him,  and  give  him 
over  to  his  own  ruin. 

What  lady — or,  to  drop  the  feeble  modern  phrase, 
what  woman — is  here  spoken  of?  She  is  the  uni- 
versal mother,  who  is  represented  as  a  widow  when 
any  one  of  her  children  "go  wrong,"  or,  in  other 
words,  do  wrong ;  but  we  read  that  He  that  loveth 
her  loveth  life,  and  they  that  seek  her  early  shall 


CHAP,  viir.]  CAKEW.  173 

be  filled  with  joy.  *  *  They  that  serve  her  shall 
minister  to  the  Holy  One :  and  them  that  love  her 
the  Lord  doth  love. 

These  are  the  words  of  the  wise  man;  and  all 
experience  and  all  observation  in  life  tend  to  fortify 
them.  But  the  WOMAN  is  WISDOM:  and  it  was  of 
this  woman  that  the  wise  man  said,  "  I  loved  her  and 
sought  her  out  from  my  youth,  I  desired  to  make  her 
my  spouse,  and  I  was  a  lover  of  her  beauty" 

And  where  can  the  beauty  of  wisdom  be  seen 
save  in  the  works  of  God,  where  the  spirit  of  wisdom 
is  said  to  "  work  all  things."  Hence  this  teaching 
brings  the  student  around  again  to  the  universal 
mother,  the  Lady  of  the  poets. 

We  have  not  intended  to  say  or  to  intimate  that 
the  object  of  poetic  adoration  is  always  conceived 
in  the  same  manner  among  the  poets,  or  is  always 
conceived  in  the  same  way  by  any  one  poet  at  dif- 
ferent periods  of  life.  If  it  were  so,  it  might  be 
defined  and  brought  before  the  imagination  of  the 
reader.  We  say  that,  generally,  the  object  is  Nature 
conceived  in  the  spirit  as  the  Spirit  of  Beauty,  and 
then  figured  as  a  lady  ;  but  with  a  freedom  which 
makes  beauty,  in  all  objects  of  nature,  subservient 
to  the  poet. 


1 74  CAEEW.  [CHAP.  vni. 

The  illustrations  of  hermetic  writing  are  very 
numerous  in  Carew ;  and  the  practised  reader  can 
hardly  look  amiss  for  them  in  the  volume  we  have 
before  us,  while  the  general  reader  will  scarcely  see 
anything  but  common-place  writing. 

Let  us  take,  for  example,  a  little  poem  entitled, 

ON    SIGHT    OF    A    GENTLEWOMAN'S    FACE    IN    THE    WATER. 

1.  Stand  still,  you  floods,   do  not  deface 

That-  image  which  you  bear  ; 
So  votaries  from  every  place 
To  you  shall  altars  rear. 

2.  No  winds  but  lovers'   sighs  blow  here, 

To  trouble  these  glad  streams, 
On  which  no  star  from  any  sphere 
Did  ever  dart  such  beams. 


8.    To  crystal  then  hi  haste 

Lest  you  should  lose  your  bliss; 
And  to  my  cruel  fair  reveal 
How  cold;   how  hard  she  is. 

4.    But  if  the  envious  nymphs  shall  fear 

Their  beauties  will  be  scorned, 

And  hire  the  ruder  winds  to  tear 

That   face  which  you   adorned  ; 


CHAP,  viii.]  CAREW*  175 

5.    Then  rage  and  foam   amain,   that  we 

Their  malice  may  despise  ; 
And  from  your  froth  we  soon  shall  see 
A  second  Venus  rise." 

Here  the  classical  allusion  to  Venus,  as  rising 
from  the  foam  of  the  sea,  may  answer  a  double  pur- 
pose, not  only  serving  to  show  the  sense  of  Carew  in 
his  own  poem,  but  his  understanding,  also,  of  the 
fable  of  Venus  rising  from  the  foam  of  the  sea—- 
the sea  being  Nature,  whose  beauty  is  Venus; 
and  this  beauty  is  the  face  seen  by  Carew  in  the 
water. 

Again : 

When  Carew  sees  a  lady,  a  veritable  lady,  who 
is,  in  his  eye  or  estimation,  simple  and  good,  un- 
affectedly true  by  nature,  and  altogether  free  from 
art  and  guile,  he  writes  a  little  poem  and  professes 
his  love  for  the  lady;  because,  as  he  tells  us,  she 
resembles  his  mistress,  his  mistress  being  Nature. 
Thus: 

TO    A    LADY    RESEMBLING    MY    MISTRESS. 

1.   Fair  copy  of  my  Celia's  face, 

Twin  of  my  soul,   thy  perfect  grace 
Claims  hi  my  love  an  equal  place. 


176  CAKEW.  [G] 

2.  Disdain  not   a  divided  heart  : 

Though  all  be  hers,   you   shall  have  part ; 
Love  is  not  ty'd  to  rules   of  art. 

3.  For  as  my  soul  first  to  her  flew, 
Yet  stay'd  with  me  ;    so  now  His  true 
It  dwells  with  her,   though  fled  to  you. 

4.  Then  entertain  this  wand'ring  guest, 
And  if  not  love,   allow   it   rest ; 

It  left  not,  tyut  mistook  its  nest. 

5.  Nor  think  my  love,   or  your  fair   eyes, 
Cheaper,   'cause  from   the   sympathies 
You  hold  with  her,   these  flames  arise. 

6.  To  lead,   or  brass,   or  some  such   bad 
Metal,   a  prince's  stamp  may  add 
That  value,   which  it  never  had. 

7.  But  to  the  pure   refined  ore, 

The  stamp  of  kings  imparts  no  more 
Worth,  than  the  metal  had  before; 

8.  Only  the  image  gives  the  rate 
To  subjects  ;    hi  a  foreign  state 

'Tis  prized  as  much  for  its  own  weight. 


CHAP,  viii.]  CAREW.  177 

9.    So,   though   all   other  hearts   resign 

To   your  pure  worth,   yet  you  have  mine 
Only  because  you  are  her  coin. 

That  is,  plainly,  the  lady  was  admired  because  of 
her  truthfulness  and  other  qualities,  which  marked 
her  as  Natures  coin. 

When  an  impulse  of  mere  idle  or  vain  curiosity, 
and  not  a  true  love,  or  love  of  truth,  prompts  some 
one  to  seek  to  discover  the  hermetic  mistress  of 
Carew,  he,  as  usual,  writes  a  little  poem  in  which  he 
warns  the  impudent  seeker  to  beware.  Thus : 

TO    ONE    THAT    DESIRED    TO    KNOW    MY    MISTRESS. 

Seek  not  to  know  my  love,   for  she 
Hath  vowed   her  constant  faith  to  me  ; 
Her  mild  aspects  are  mine,  and  thou 
Shalt  only  find  a  stormy  brow  : 
For  if  her  beauty  stir  desire 
In  me,   her  kisses  quench  the  fire  ; 
Or,   I  can  to  love's  fountain  go, 
Or  dwell  upon  her  hills  of  snow. 
But  when  thou  burn'st,   she  shall  not  spare 
One  gentle  breath   to  cool  the  air  ; 
Thou  shalt  not  climb  those  Alps,  nor  spy 
Where  the  sweet  springs  of  Venus  lie  ; 
8* 


178  CAKEW.  [CHAP.  VIH. 

Search  hidden  nature,   and  there  find 
A   TREASURE   to   enrich   thy  mind  ; 
Discover  arts  not  yet  reveal'd, 
But  let  my  mistress  live   conceal'd  ; 
Though  men  by  knowledge  wiser  grow, 
Yet  here  'tis  wisdom   not  to  know. 

Here  the  seeker  is  really  told  where  to  search  for 
the  secret  treasure,  it  being  hid  in  nature ;  yet  with  a 
refinement  of  artistic  skill,  the  poet  points  to  possible 
incidental  discoveries,  like  those  of  the  gold-seekers 
in  alchemy,  who,  in  searching  for  the  philosopher's 
stone,  which  also  is  the  hidden  "treasure,"  if  they 
found  not  the  treasure  itself,  really  made  many 
incidental  discoveries,  which  ultimately  grew  into 
the  science  of  chemistry. 

In  the  poem  entitled  "  My  mistress  commanding 
me  to  return  her  letters,"  the  poet  indicates  a  change 
of  doctrine,  not  in  its  principle,  as  depending  upon 
his  mistress,  but  in  having  fallen  short  of  a  complete 
knowledge  of  the  mistress,  to  wit,  Nature.  The 
poet  describes  himself  as  having  met  the  lady  by 
"  chance  "  while  travelling  on  the  road  of  the  god  of 
love ;  and  then  tells  us  of  his  discovery  that  there 
was  more  in  the  lady  than  he  knew  or  had  known — 
a  very  common  case  upon  this  subject.  He  relied  upon 


CHAP,  vni.]  CAREW.  179 

his  first  impressions,  and  walked  very  confidently  in 
them  for  a  time,  which  he  calls  walking  by  the  side 
of  his  mistress  "  from  place  to  place,  fearing  no  vio- 
lence," &c.  In  other  words,  he  had  accepted  as 
Truth,  and  walked  by  it  confidently,  that  which  a 
further  experience  of  the  world  had  shown  to  be 
defective  or  incomplete.  He  had  discovered  that 
there  was  more  in  nature,  within  and  without,  than 
his  philosophy  (or  intuition)  had  represented ;  and 
he  then  felt  called  upon,  by  the  highest  considera- 
tions of  Truth,  his  mistress,  to  lay  aside  his  cruder 
opinions  (figured  as  his  letters  to  his  mistress),  and 
make  a  new  appeal  to  obtain  what  he  calls  the 
"  heart  "  of  his  lady,  meaning  a  more  central  truth. 

His  mistress  signifies  Truth,  (for  nature  and  truth 
are  one),  whose  "  sway  "  is  so  powerful,  that  her 
commands  must  be  obeyed.  In  the  act  of  obedience 
he  renews  the  expression  of  his  perfect  faith : 

"  Tell  her  no  length  of  time,  nor  change  of  air, 
No  cruelty,  disdain,  absence,  despair — 
No,  nor  her  steadfast  constancy — can  deter 
My  vassal  heart  from  ever  honoring  her." 

This  is  the  doctrine  announced  by  Chaucer;  and 
it  is  just  and  proper,  only  in  view  of  the  mystic 


180  CAREW.  [< 


CHAP.  VIII. 


truth  conveyed  ID  it,  that  the  lady,  to  whom  such 
vassalage  is  due,  is  perfection,  or  perfect  Truth. 

In  this  way  most  of  Carew's  poems  are  to  be  in- 
terpreted. 

When  the  poet  has  been  guilty  of  some  neglect 
of  Her  whose  "  ways  are  everlasting  command- 
ments," and  falls  accordingly  into  deserved  evil 
— feeling  it  perhaps  "  right  at  his  eye  " — he  is  ready 
with  his  little  poem,  in  which  he  figures  his  mistress 
(nature)  as  an  angry  "  Lady  "  rebuking  him  for  his 
inconstancy,  &c. 

Carew  gives  us  a  hermetic  poem,  entitled, 

TO   MY   RIVAL. 

Hence,  vain  intruder!  haste  away, 
Wash  not  with  unhallowed  brine 
The  footsteps  of  my  Celia's  shrine  ; 

Nor  on  her  purer  altars  lay 

Thy  empty  words,  accents  that  may 
Some  looser  dame  to  love  incline  : 
She  must  have  offerings  more  divine  ; 

Such  pearly  drops,  as  youthful  May 

Scatters  before  the  rising  day  ; 

Such  smooth  soft  language,  as  each  line 

Might  soothe  an  angry  God,  or  stay 


CHAP.  viii.J  CAKEW.  181 

Jove's  thunder,  make  the  hearers  pine 
With  envy:  do  this,  thou  shalt  be 
Servant  to  her,  rival  with  me. 

It  is  perhaps  not  beyond  the  limits  of  the  possi- 
ble, that  one  man  shall  thus  invite  a  rival  to  become 
a  servant  with  him  in  the  courtship  of  the  same 
mortal  woman  ;  but  we  hope  the  reader  will  not  at- 
tempt to  confirm  the  supposition  by  appealing  to  the 
story  of  Cato. 

The  rivalry  invited  by  Carew  is  such  as  a  com- 
municant in  the  church  might  extend  to  an  infidel, 
to  partake  of  the  Holy  Sacrament,  after  first  warn- 
ing him  to  put  away  from  him  his  "  evil  doings," 
assuring  him — the  condition  being  complied  with — 
he  shall  be  an  acknowledged  servant  of  God  and  a 
rival  with  him  in  seeking  His  grace ;  for  the  true 
lady  in  the  case,  as  in  the  Scripture  itself,  is  called 
the  bride  of  the  Lord. 

The  impossibility  of  truly  picturing  the  ideal 
Beauty  is  the  subject  of  Carew's  poem  addressed 

To  THE  PAINTER, 

in  which  the  truth  is  expressed,  but  in  a  concealed 
or  hermetic  style. 


182  CAREW.  [CHAP.  vm. 

Fond  man,  that  hop'st  to  catch  that  face,  &c. 

The  face  here  intended  is  not  the  face  of  either 
man  or  woman,  but  the  face  of  Nature,  seen  in  her 
Beauty,  which  signifies  love  also  in  this  class  of 
writings.  This  is  the  face  referred  to  in  Shakes- 
peare's 93d  Sonnet : 

"Heaven  in  thy  creation  did  decree 
That  hi  thy  face  sweet  love   should   ever  dwell. 

*  *  *  *  # 

How  like  Eve's  apple  doth  thy  beauty  grow, 
If  thy  sweet  virtue  answer  not  thy  show  ! " 

But  to  return  to  Carew  : 

Fond  man,  that  hop'st  to  catch  that  face, 
With  those  false   colors,   whose  short  grace     < 
Serves  but  to  show  the  lookers  on 
The  faults   of  thy  presumption  ; 
Or  at  the  least  to  let  us   see 
That  is  divine,  but  yet  not  she;  &c« 

Thus  far  this  poem  expresses  the  principle  set 
out  in  Shakespeare's  84th  Sonnet,  in  the  concluding 
lines  addressed  to  the  Beautiful : 

"  You  to   your  beauteous  blessings   add  a  curse, 

Being  fond   on  praise   which  makes   your  praises  worse." 

That  isj  the  invisible    beauty  cannot  but  be  made 


CHAP,  viii.]  CABETV.  183 

less  (being  the  perfect  in  itself),  by  any  human  at- 
tempt to  represent  it,  all  such  representations  mak- 
ing it  "  worse." 

Shakespeare's  sense  of  this  is  the  root  of  his 
opening  Sonnets,  in  the  16th  of  which  he  invokes  the 
direct  inspiration  of  the  Spirit  of  Beauty  itself,  as- 
sured that  Beauty  must  live  when  "  drawn  by  its 
own  sweet  skill,"  meaning  nature-skill. 

This  is  also  the  precise  meaning  of  the  conclud- 
ing lines  of  Carew's  poem  addressed  To  the  Painter, 
which  is  in  the  very  spirit  of  the  opening  Sonnets  of 
Shakespeare,  having  reference  to  the  same  "  heir,"  as 
a  product  by  the  poet  of  the  beautiful  when  inspired 
by  the  Spirit  of  Beauty  itself,  Says  Carew  to  the 
imaginary  painter, 

Yet  your   art  cannot   equalize 
This  picture  in  her  lover's   eyes, 

Here  the  expression  "  lover's  eyes  "  is  technical, 
as  belonging  to  that  class  of  poets  technically  called 
lovers-^ -not  because  of  their  love  of  woman,  but  be? 
cause  they  were  so  penetrated  by  the  spirit  of  love 
as  to  see  it  in  nature,  as  the  beauty  of  nature.  The 
expression  lovers'  eyes,  in  this  same  sense,  is  irj 


184  CAREW.  [CHAP.  vni. 

Shakespeare's  55th  Sonnet,  to  which  the  reader  is 
referred  ;  for  the  Spirit  of  Beauty  could  surely  be 
seen,  as  the  poet  thought,  by  that  spirit  of  love,  the 
possession  of  which  made  the  lover  in  the  sense  here 
explained.  Carew  proceeds : 

His  eyes  the  pencils  are  which  limn 
Her  truly,  as  hers  copy  him. 

Here  the  spirit  of  man  and  the  spirit  of  nature 
are,  as  it  were,  confronted,  and  are  said  to  copy  each 
other ;  for  therein  lies  the  true  unity  which,  for  the 
reason  that  it  has  no  counterpart,  becomes  irrepre- 
sentable  by  visible  imagery. 

A  truer  unity  is  not  possible  than  that  wherein 
man  comes  into  conscious  unison  with  nature,  when 
the  two  may  be  said  poetically  to  image  or  copy 
each  other ;  and  this  is  what  is  imaged  in  Carew's 
mystical  poem  : 

His  eyes  the  pencils  are  which  limn 

Her  truly,   as  hers  copy   him  ; 

His  heart  the  tablet  which   alone 

Is  for  that  portrait  the   truest  .stone. 

If  you  would  a  truer  see, 

Mark  it  in  their  posterity  ; 

And   you   shall   read  it  truly   there, 

When   the   glad   world   shall  see   their   heir. 


CHAP,  viii.]  CAREW.  185 

We  see  in  these  lines  the  hermetic  poet.  He  is 
not  writing  of  a  physical  heir  in  the  ordinary  sense ; 
but  he  had  in  his  mind  that  heir  which  the  artist 
produces  when  inspired  by  the  Beauty  of  Nature, 
with  a  sense  of  which  the  true  artist  is  pene- 
trated as  with  the  spirit  of  life  itself. 

When  thus  made  alive,  as  it  were,  with  life  itself, 
the  artist  presents  us  with  true  copies  of  nature 
where  Beauty  lives  unseen  to  the  natural  eye. 

This  is  the  explanation  of  a  poem  entitled  The 
Inquiry,  claimed  for  both  Carew  and  Herrick — 
doubtless  in  harmony  with  the  sentiments  of  both  of 
the  poets. 

THE   INQUIRY. 

Amongst  the  myrtles  as  I  walked, 
Love  and  my  sighs   thus  intertalked  : 
Tell  me  (said  I,   in  deep  distress)  * 
Where  may  I  find  my  shepherdess  ? 

Here  the  shepherdess  is  a  figure  for  the  Lady 
Beauty,  which,  as  we  say,  though  in  some  sense  visi- 
ble in  all  things  to  the  true  lover,  is  not,  on  the 
other  hand,  particularly  visible  in  any  one  thing ; 
just  as  we  say  God  is  everywhere,  and,  for  that  rea- 
son, is  nowhere  in  particular ;  for  to  say  that  God 


186  CAREW.  [CHAP.  vm. 

is  in  any  particular  place,  implies  that  he  who  is 
everywhere  is  not  in  some  other  place — the  same 
view  making  it  necessary,  if  we  would  be  consistent, 
to  say  that,  because  Providence  controls  and  directs 
all  things,  no  particular  thing  or  event  can  philoso- 
phically be  said  to  be  providential. 
The  poem  proceeds  : 

Thou  fool  (said   Love),  knowest  thou  not  this  ? 
In  everything  that's  good  she  is: 

Can  the  reader  imagine  that  here  the  poet  is 
speaking  of  a  particular  lady?  No,  surely.  His 
object  is  to  direct  attention  to  the  beauty  of  nature, 
and  he  continues  : 

In  yonder  tulip  go  and  seek, 

There  thou  may'st  find  her  lip,   her  cheek. 

In  yon  enamelled  pansy  by, 
There  thou  shalt  have  her  curious  eye; 
In  bloom  of  peach,   in  rosy  bud, 
There  wave  the  streamers  of  her  blood. 

In  brightest  lily  that  there  stands, 
The  emblems   of  her  whiter  hands — 

here  we  may  see  the  "  lily  hands,"  &c.,  of  Spen- 
ser's 1st  Sonnet — 


viii.]  CABEW.  187 

In  yonder  rising  hill  there  smells 
Such  sweets  as  in  her  bosom  dwells. 


'Tis  true,   (said  I,)  and  thereupon 
I  went  to  pluck  them  one  by  one, 
To  make  of  parts  a  union; 
But  on  a  sudden  all  was  gone. 

With  that  I  stopped.    Said  Love,  These  be, 

(Fond  man,)  resemblances  of  thee; 

And  as  these  flowers,  thy  joys  shall  die, 

Even  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye, 

And  all  thy  hopes  of  her  shall  wither, 
Like  these  short  sweets  thus  knit  together. 

That  is,  to  paraphrase  the  last  couplet — All  of 
thy  hopes  of  seeing  the  beauty  of  nature  as  a  whole, 
shall  perish,  because  thou  hast  sought  to  divide  the 
indivisible,  and  to  make  a  living  reality  of  perishable 
fragments. 

As  a  parallel  to  Carew's  poem,  To  a  Painter,  we 
cite  Spenser's  21st  Sonnet,  which  has  precisely  the 
same  object : 

"The  glorious  portrait  of  that  angel's  face, 
Made  to  amaze  weak  men's   confused   skill, 
And  this  world's  worthless  glory  to  embase, 


188  CAREW.  [CHAP.  vin. 

What  pen,  what  pencil,  can  express  her  fill  ?  [full  or 

fully.]  *  *  *  * 

A  greater  craftsman's  hand  thereto  doth  need, 
That  can  express  the  Life  of  things  indeed." 

We  do  not,  by  any  means,  claim  a  mystic  char- 
acter for  all  of  Carew's  poems.  Very  far  from  it  ; 
for,  side  by  side  with  those  in  which  we  see  the  mys- 
tic element,  we  notice  others  having  no  such  features. 
The  truth  is,  that  the  best  poets  are  also  the  most  natu- 
ral, while,  at  the  same  time,  they  become  so  because 
the  natural  is  also  the  spiritual,  very  much  as  the  doc- 
trine is  often  asserted  that  God  is  seen  in  His  works, 
which,  though  in  some  sense  different  from  the 
Maker,  are  nevertheless  nothing  without  the  Maker. 

That  Carew  recognized  the  Queen  of  Beauty, 
which  is  only  another  expression  for  the  Spirit  in 
nature,  through  which  it  ceases  to  appear  merely 
material,  is  sufficiently  plain  from  the  epistle  to 
Town  send,  in  answer  to  a  request  to  write  on  the 
subject  of  the  death  of  the  King  of  Sweden.  In  this 
poetic  epistle  Carew  refers  to  a  work  by  Townsend 
himself,  apparently  entitled  the  Shepherd's  Paradise, 
which  we  take  to  be  only  another  name  for  Arcadia, 
or  the  true  poet's  Paradise.  In  this  epistle  Carew 
eulogizes  Townsend  in  the  highest  strain,  and  says  : 


CHAP,  vm.j  CABEW.  189 

For  who  like  thee,  (whose  loose  discourse  is  far 
More  neat  and  polished  than  our  poems  are, 
Whose  very  gait's  more  graceful  than  our  dance,) 
In  sweetly-flowing  numbers,  may  advance 
The  glorious  night ;  &c. — 

evidently  referring  to  the  Shepherd's  Paradise,  in 
which  the  writer  is  said  to  have  sent  down  a  troop 
of  deities  in  their  angel-shapes  to  guide 

Our  steerless  barques  hi  passion's  swelling  tide, 
By  virtue's  card,  and  brought  us  from  above 
A  pattern  of  their  own  celestial  love. 
Nor  lay  it  [says  our  poet]  in  dark  sullen  precepts 

drown'd, 

But  with  rich  fancy  and  clear  action  crown'd, 
Through  a  mysterious  fable  (that  was  drawn 
Like  a  transparent  veil  of  purest  lawn, 
Before  their  dazzling  beauties)  the  divine 
Venus  did  with  her  heavenly  Cupid  shine. 
The  story's  curious  web,  the  masculine  style, 
The  subtle  sense,  did  time  and  sleep  beguile  ; 
Pinion'd  and  charm'd  they  stood  to  gaze  upon 
Th'  angel-like  forms,  gestures  and  motion; 
To  hear  those  ravishing  sounds,  that  did  dispense 
Knowledge  and  pleasure  to  the  soul  and  sense. 
It  fill'd  us  with  amazement  to  behold 
Love  made  all  spirit,  his  corporeal  mould, 
Dissected  into  atoms,  melt  away 


190  CABEW.  [CHAP.  vin. 

To  empty  air,  and  from  the  gross  allay 
Of  mixtures,  and  compounding  accidents 
Refined  to  immaterial  elements. 
But  when  the  QUEEN  OF  BEAUTY  did  inspire 
The  air  with  perfumes,  and  our  hearts  with  fire, 
Breathing,  from  her  celestial  organ,  sweet 
Harmonious  notes,  our  souls  fell  at  her  feet, 
And  did,  with  humble  reverend  duty,  more 
Her  rare  perfections  than  high  state  adore. 


While  the  writer  of  these  remarks  has  no  doubt 
whatever  of  the  hermetic  character  of  many  of  the 
poems  of  Carew,  he  is  fully  impressed  with  the  dif- 
ficulty of  making  it  appear  to  the  general  reader, 
and  suggests,  in  addition  to  what  has  been  exhibited 
from  the  poems  themselves,  that  the  reader  will  bear 
in  mind  that  most  of  the  poets  have  much  to  say  of 
what  they  call  their  Muse  or  sometimes  the  Muses, 
and  then  consider  what  the  expression  signifies. 
The  poetic  Muse  is  the  poet's  inspiration  ;  and  this 
again  is  the  poet's  genius  ;  and  here,  we  must  consid- 
er still  further,  that  this  is  not  anything  absolutely 
apart  from  or  out  of  nature,  only  so  far  as  to  be  invis- 
ible, or,  in  other  words,  inaccessible  to  the  physical 
senses.  If  now  the  reader  will  conceive  Nature  to 
be  a  whole,  a  unity,  and  call  it  the  Muse  of  the  poet, 


CHAP,  vin.]  CAEEW.  191 

under  any  feminine  name,  as  that  of  Cynthia,  or  the 
Queen  of  Beauty,  or  by  any  other  name,  only  hold- 
ing the  name  subordinate  to  that  for  which  it  stands, 
he  may  at  length  come  to  see  the  image  of  it  directly 
under  his  eyes ;  and  his  problem  then  will  be  to  un- 
derstand it. 

The  hermetic  character  of  Carew's  poems  may 
perhaps  come  to  light  by  setting  out  with  a  hypo- 
thesis in  the  following  manner  : 

In  the  poem  addressed  To  the  Painter,  we  have 
seen  that  the  poet  places  particular  emphasis  upon 
what  he  calls  the  picture  in  the  lover's  eyes  : 

His   eyes  the  pencils   are  which  limn 
Her  truly,  as  hers   copy  him. 

Let  us  suppose,  hypothetically,  that  the  real  lady 
in  this  case  is  Lady  Nature,  of  whom  the  poet  has  a 
certain  spiritualized  conception,  which,  in  reality,  is 
the  basis  of  the  poet's  genius — his  muse  or  inspira- 
tion ;  but  that  the  poet  is  conscious  of  its  peculiarity, 
in  that  it  stands  before  his  mind  as  the  very  princi- 
ple of  life,  by  which  the  poet  realizes  and  enjoys  a 
certain  sense  of  unity  with  the  spirit  of  nature  and 
of  life.  This  we  may  conceive  the  poet's  secret,  of 
which  he  is  not  to  speak  publicly,  because,  among; 


192  CAREW.  [CHAP.  vm. 

other  reasons,  the  object  is  regarded  with  a  certain 
sacredness  on  account  of  its  purity,  which  refuses  all 
admixture  with  what  is  commonly  called  the  profane, 
or  corrupt  world. 

This  state  of  the  poet  places  him  in  a  position  by 
which  he  has  what  we  call  a  secret  sense  of  his  unity 
with  the  higher  life,  called,  by  Shakespeare,  in  Son- 
net 39,  his  "  better  part ; "  and  this  state  of  things 
becomes  the  ground  of  a  poem  by  Carew,  ad- 
dressed 

To  MY  MISTRESS  IN  ABSENCE  : 

in  which  the  poet  secretly  (or  in  a  hermetic  method), 
reveals,  as  it  were,  the  sense  of  his  unity  with  the 
higher  spirit,  notwithstanding  his  separation  in  the 
body,  which  he  calls  "  absence."  In  this  poem  the 
poet  represents  himself  as 

Tasting  a  sweet  and  subtle  bliss, 

Such  as  gross  lovers  cannot  know, 

Whose  hands  and  lips  meet  here  below,  &c. 

Here  we  have  an  example  of  the  poet's  secret 
love;  and  as  this  was  on  no  account  to  be  pro- 
claimed, the  poet  writes  a  little  poem,  entitled 

SEC  REST  PROTESTED. 

Fear  not,   dear  Love,   that   I'll   reveal 
Those  hours   of  pleasure  we   two   steal ; 


CHAP,  viii.]  CAKEW.  193 

No  eye  shall  see,  nor  yet  the  sun 
Descry,   what  thou   and  I  have  done ; 
No   ear  shall  hear  our  love,   but   we 
Silent  as   the  night  will  be. 
The  God  of  Love  himself,   whose  dart 
Did  first  wound  mine,   and  then  thy  heart, 
Shall  never  know  that  we  can  tell 
What  sweets  in  stolen  embraces  dwell. 
This  only  means  may  find  it  out, 
If,   when  I   die,   physicians  doubt 
What  caused  my  death,   and  there  to  view 
Of  all  their  judgments  which   was  true, 
Rip  up  my  heart,   oh!    then,   I  fear, 
The  world  will  see  thy  picture  there. 

In  order  to  a  realization  of  the  secret  joy,  some 
original  division  of  the  unity  is  conceived  as  neces- 
sary ;  and  this  "  disunion  "  is  thence  called  "  blessed" 
— as  in  the  poem  entitled 

AN  HYMENEAL  DIALOGUE: 

the  Chorus  of  which  has  no  meaning  except  from  the 
hypothetical  mysticism  we  have  assumed. 

0  blest  disunion,  that   doth  so 
Our  bodies  from  our  souls   divide, 

As  two   do  one,  and   one  four  grow, 
Each  by  contraction   multiplied. 
9 


194  CAEEW.  [CHAP.  Tin. 

That  is,  the  poet's  body  is  separated  from  the 
higher  spirit,  and  then,  by  losing  or  contracting  it- 
self, becomes  one  ;  but  each  of  the  inseparable  parts, 
being  two  (or  soul  and  body),  grows  thus  to  four  ; 
but  as  this  would  be  impossible  but  for  an  original 
separation,  division,  or  disunion  of  the  one,  the  dis- 
union itself,  as  a  means  to  the  secret  joy,  is  called 
"blessed." 

By  seizing  the  poet's  idea  of  the  Lady,  as  the 
Beautiful  in  a  divine  sense,  and  hence  called  the 
Queen  of  Beauty,  the  reader  is  prepared  to  see  the 
meaning  of  the  little  poem,  or  song,  entitled 

A    BEAUTIFUL   MISTRESS. 

If  when  the  sun  at  noon  displays 

His  bright  rays, 

Thou  but  appear, 
He  then,  all  pale  with  shame  and  fear, 

Quencheth  his  light, 
Hides  his  dark  brow,  flies  from  thy  sight, 

And  grows  more  dim 
Compar'd  to  thee,  than  stars  to  him. 
If  thou  but  show  thy  face  again, 
When  darkness  doth  at  midnight  reign, 
The  darkness  flies,  and  light  is  hurl'd 
Round  about  the  silent  world  : 


OHAP.  vm.]  CAREW.  195 

So  as  alike  thou  driv'st  away 

Both  light  and  darkness,  night  and  day. 

The  reader  may  be  certain  that  this  poem  was 
not  addressed  to  a  lady  of  flesh  and  blood,  however 
pretty  and  complimentary  it  may  seem  to  be  in  that 
sense  ;  but  it  was  addressed  to  the  poet's  Muse — his 
genius  or  inspiration,  or  Nature,  as  Arcadia,  or  as 
seen  in  the  Spirit  of  Beauty. 

This  same  Arcadian  Beauty  is  the  object  ad- 
dressed in  the  18th  of  the  Shakespeare  Sonnets  : 

"  Shall  I  compare  thee  to  a  summer's  day  ? 
Thou  art  more  lovely  and  more  temperate,"  &c. 

This  Beauty,  or  Spirit  of  Beauty,  is  that  to  which 
Shakespeare  refers  in  the  24th  Sonnet,  precisely  in 
the  sense  of  Carew  in  his  poem  addressed  To  the 
Painter : 

"For  through  the  painter  must  you  see  his  skill, 
To  find  where  your  true  image  pictur'd  lies ; 
Which  in  my  bosom's  shop  is  hanging  still,"  &c. 

•  This  is  also  the  "jewel"  of  the  27th  Sonnet  of 
Shakespeare. 

Let  the  reader  so  conceive  it — as  the  Muse  of 
Shakespeare — and  observe  the  almost  fearful  sub- 
limity of  the  27th  Sonnet : 


1 96  CAREW.  [ 


CHAP.  VIII. 


"Weary  with  toil,   I  haste  me  to  my  bed, 
The   dear  repose  for  limbs  with   travail  tir'd  ; 
But  then  begins  a  journey  in  my  head, 
To  work  my  mind,   when  body's  work  's  expired  : 
For  then  my  thoughts  (from  far  where  I  abide) — 

in  absence,  as  Carew  expresses  it — 

Intend  a  zealous  pilgrimage  to  thee, 

And  keep  my  drooping  eyelids  open  wide, 

Looking  on  darkness  which   the  blind  do  see : 

Save   that  my  soul's   imaginary  sight 

Presents  thy  shadow  to  my  sightless  view, 

Which  like   a  jewel  hung  in  ghastly  night, 

Makes  black  night  beauteous   and  her  old  face  new." 

The  student  may  see  the  Lady  in  many  of  Ca- 
rew's  poems  not  cited  above.  She  is  in  the  poem 
addressed  "  To  his  Mistress,  confined."  She  is  in  the 
poem  entitled  "The  Hue  and  Cry."  She  is  the 
subject  of  the  song,  "  Ask  me  no  more,"  &c.  She  is 
in  "  The  Spark,"  which  refers  to  the  Promethean 
Spark,  or  the  poet's  life-spirit.  She  is  seen  in  the 
poem  entitled  "  The  Incommunicability  of  Love  ; '" 
and  in  the  poem,  "  To  one  who,  when  I  praised  my 
Mistress's  Beauty,  said  I  was  blind."  She  is  in  the 
song  beginning,  "  Would  you  know  what's  soft  ?  " 


CHAP,  viii.]  CABEW.  197 

and  in   very  many  other  poems  where  the  unpre- 
pared general  reader  would  not  suspect  it. 

It  is  a  point  by  no  means  to  be  overlooked,  that 
while  it  is  a  primary  object  in  the  interpretation  of 
mystical,  or  indeed  of  any  writings  whatever,  to  dis- 
cover the  thought  of  the  writer,  it  is  yet  of  indispen- 
sable necessity,  for  the  security  of  one's  own  think- 
ing, to  bring  the  interpretation  to  the  test  of  uni- 
versal thought  itself.  We  may  perfectly  recognize 
the  thought  of  another  without  in  any  manner  ac- 
quiescing in  it,  and  self-protection  requires  the  appeal 
to  universal  Truth  to  guard  against  being  misled 
by  the  thought  of  another. 

We  reverse  the  order  of  Truth  when  we  read 
with  the  assumption  that  a  writing,  or  the  thought 
of  a  writer,  is  true ;  yet,  plainly,  before  we  can  as- 
certain the  character  of  another  man's  thought  we 
must  discover  the  thought  itself:  and  then,  we  re- 
peat, it  is  altogether  a  separate  inquiry  to  discover 
a  true  and  reliable  test  for  it;  and  here  every  stu- 
dent must  appeal  to  God's  Truth,  for  this  is  what 
books  cannot  teach.  If,  now,  any  one  should  ask, 
And  what  is  God's  Truth?  the  answer  must  be  a 
re-affirmation,  that  it  is  God's  Truth  itself;  for  no 


198  CAREW.  [CHAP.  vm. 

absurdity  can  parallel  that  of  attempting  to  sus- 
tain Truth  by  anything  short  of  Truth  itself.  To 
apply  this  to  the  writings  of  a  poet  or  a  philoso- 
pher, we  must  first  discover  the  thought  of  the 
writer,  and  then,  as  a  separate  question,  we  must  de- 
termine its  value  in  reference  to  eternal  Truth. 

If  the  student  cannot  now  be  satisfied  with  this 
view,  we  must,  for  the  present,  refer  him  to  a  period 
later  in  life,  when,  perhaps,  the  mystic  theory  may 
seem  less  repugnant  to  the  actualities  of  sense ;  or 
rather,  when  the  sensuous  nature  itself  may  some- 
vriiat  lose  its  tyrannical  hold  upon  the  life  it  im- 
prisons. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

WHY  should  not  the  truth,  so  far  as  the  poets 
are  concerned,  be  told  on  this  as  upon  other  subjects  ! 
If  the  true  is  also  the  good,  according  to  the  declara- 
tion of  poets  and  philosophers  and  no  less  of  divines, 
why  do  writers  perseveringly  seek  to  mystify  and 
hide  it  ?  Is  it  because  it  is  a  gift,  and  must  be  found 
or  received  by  each  one  for  himself?  Let  this  be 
granted,  and  then  we  must  ask,  Are  we  aided  in  the 
pursuit  of  an  obscure  truth  by  books  purposely  writ- 
ten to  hide  that  truth,  and  make  it  still  more  ob- 
scure ?  Are  men  more  likely  to  find  it  by  accident 
when  it  is  purposely  hid  under  a  bushel  ? 

This  is  not  according  to  the  teaching  of  old,  if 
we  may  credit  an  ancient  record,  where  we  read  : 
"  neither  do  men  light  a  candle,  and  put  it  under  a 
bushel,  but  on  a  candlestick,  and  it  giveth  light  unto 
all  that  are  in  the  house." 

Yet  here,  again,  we  meet  with  this  very  instruc- 


200  GENERAL  REMARKS.  [CHAP.  ix. 

tion  in  one  of  the  most  mystical  of  books,  where  the 
"Strange  Shepherd"  forms  the  very  subject  of  a 
mystical  history,  to  unveil  which  is  held  by  many  to 
be  a  most  dangerous  if  not  an  unpardonable  sin. 

In  view  of  so  many  difficulties,  one  is  almost 
tempted  to  believe  that  all  the  books  in  the  world, 
on  one  particular  subject,  have  become,  instead  of 
helps  to  the  truth,  but  so  many  hindrances,  making 
the  natural  wilderness  of  the  world  darker  in  a  ten- 
fold degree  than  it  otherwise  would  be,  insomuch 
that  it  becomes  ten  times  a  truth,  that  Truth  itself 
is  a  divine  gift,  to  which  the  natural  or  unassisted 
man  can  by  no  means  attain :  yet  as  despair  is  said 
to  be  the  devil's  bait,  the  student  must,  on  no  ac- 
count, give  over  his  search,  but  should  rather  follow 
the  example  of  Colin  by  taking  a  seat  at  the  foot  of 
Old  Mole,  that  is,  of  Great  Nature,  on  the  ground, 
(by  which  so  many  writers  figure  humility,)  and 
there,  by  a  true  practice  upon  his  oaten  reed,  or 
Spirit  of  Truth,  endeavor  to  bring  to  his  assistance 
the  Strange  Shepherd,  who  may  in  due  time  make 
himself  known  as  the  only  friend  of  man,  not  subject 
to  be  actually  changed  by  being  falsely  written 
about  ;  and  if  he  should  prove  to  be  the  bridegroom 
of  Cynthia  herself,  let  him  be  received,  and  honored 


CHAP,  ix.]  GENERAL  REMARKS.  201 

with  her  as  the  sacred  double  nature  in  one,  of 
which  man  himself,  and  woman  no  less,  is  the  "  image 
humane"  referred  to  in  line  351  of  the  poem  we 
have  had  under  examination. 

In  the  treatment  we  have  given  this  subject,  we 
consider  that  we  have  made  an  effort  to  rescue  cer- 
tain of  the  hermetic  poets  from  the  imputation  of 
what  ought  to  be  regarded  as  an  impious  perversion 
of  the  divine  gift,  by  many  of  the  class,  if  the  edge 
of  criticism  be  not  thus  turned  aside ;  for  the  simple 
reason,  that  where  the  whole  power  of  the  poet  is 
exhausted  in  doing  honor  to  human  love,  there  can 
be  no  religious  sentiment  in  the  soul  to  be  honored. 

We  urge  that  the  entire  vocabulary  of  Love  is 
exhausted  by  the  poets  ;  and  if  woman  was  the  sole 
object  there  could  have  been  no  object  of  religious 
love  in  the  mind  of  the  devotees ;  but  let  it  be  sup- 
posed that  the  poets  had  religious  love  in  view,  (we 
refer  to  those  poets  who  were  the  authors  of  what 
must  be  called  the  love-literature  of  the  middle  age, 
and  the  period  just  following  it,  when  Petrarch 
does  not  hesitate  to  compare  Laura  to  Jesus  Christ,) 
and  we  discover,  by  a  very  simple  process  of  obser- 
vation, the  element  in  which  the  opposition  to  the 
visible  church  nursed  itself  until  it  ripened  into  the 


202  GENERAL  REMARKS.  [CHAP.  ix. 

Reformation.  Love,  as  treated  by  this  class  of 
poets,  was  a  form  of  religious  devotion,  carried  on  in 
a  hermetic  method  as  a  protection  against  the  perse- 
cutions of  the  Church.  A  religious  sentiment  was 
the  animating  spirit  which  easily  became  personified 
in  lovely  woman,  because,  next  to  God,  she  is  in 
reality  the  true  object  of  worship  on  earth  ;  but  if 
woman  becomes  first  in  the  order  of  the  affections, 
love  itself  must  soon  become  unlovely  even  in  the 
eyes  of  its  votaries.  Hence  the  beauty  of  the  declara- 
tion of  one  who  perfectly  understood  the  meaning  of 
the  word : 

"  I  could  not  love  thee,  dear !  so  much, 
Lov'd  I  not  honor  more." 

We  say  then,  that,  among  the  poets  who  have 
given  us  what  we  think  is  best  defined  as  love-lite- 
rature, we  must  suppose  that  truth,  the  spirit  of 
truth,  in  the  sense  of  religion,  must  be  considered  as 
the  object  ;  and  the  poems  of  those  ages,  embracing 
numberless  sonnets,  must  be  regarded  as  religious 
studies  or  contemplations,  expressing  more  or  less 
insight  into  nature, — the  nature  of  God ;  for  nature 
is  the  nature  of  God. 

A  thoughtful  student  will  find  some  confirmation 


CHAP,   ix.]  GENERAL  REMARKS.  203 

of  this  view  by  contrasting  the  metaphysical  charac- 
ter of  the  literature  of  which  we  speak,  its  solemnity, 
reserve  and  stateliness,  with  the  acknowledged  love- 
writings  of  Burns,  Moore,  Byron,  and  other  recent 
writers,  who  indeed,  if  we  may  credit  public  report, 
endangered  their  own  salvation  by  sacrificing  only 
at  the  altar  of  human  beauty,  in  forgetfulness  of 
what  Sidney  calls  the  "  unspeakable  and  everlasting 
Beauty,"  to  which  his  own  Sonnets  were  addressed 
under  the  figure  of  Stella. 

We  understand,  therefore,  that  when  Colin  Clouts 
is  led  to  speak  of  his  individual  love,  as  in  lines  from 
464,  the  poet  is  not  speaking  of  woman ;  but  he  is 
declaring  his  devotion  to  certain  principles  which  re- 
present to  him  immortal  truth  (line  257),  and  these 
also  as  they  express  a  unity  in  the  highest  sense, 
that  of  the  divine  nature. 

"Far  be  it  (quoth  Colin  Clouts)  from  me, 
That  I  of  gentle  maids  should  ill  deserve : 
For  that  myself  I  do  profess  to  be 
Vassal  to  one,  whom  all  my  days  I  serve  ; 
The  beam  of  beauty  sparkled  from  above, 
The  flower  of  virtue  and  pure   chastity, 
The  blossom  of  sweet  joy  and  perfect  love, 
The  pearl  of  peerless  grace  and  modesty  : 


204  GENERAL  REMARKS.  [CHAP.  ix. 

To  her  my  thoughts  I  daily  dedicate, 

To  her  my  heart  I  nightly  martyrize  : 

To  her  my  love  I  lowly  do  prostrate, 

To  her  my  life  I  wholly  sacrifice  : 

My  thought,  my  heart,  my  love,  my  life  is  she, 

And  I  hers  ever  only,  ever  one : 

One  ever  I  all  vowed  hers  to  be, 

One  ever  I,  and  others  never  none." 

Let  these  lines  be  read  with  those  from  330  to 
351  of  Colin  Clouts,  as  Spenser's  picture  of  a  divine 
object,  and  then  let  them  be  compared  to  the  80th, 
86th,  and  105th  Sonnets  of  Shakespeare  : 

80.  "  0,  how  I  faint  when  I  of  you  do  write, 

Knowing  a  better  spirit  [that  of  Spenser  ?]  doth  use 

your  name, 

And  in  the  praise  thereof  spends  all  his  might, 
To  make  me  tongue-tied,  speaking  of  your  fame. 
But  since  your  worth,  wide  as  the  ocean  is, 
The  humble  as  the  proudest  sail  doth  bear, 
My  saucy  bark,  inferior  far  to  his, 
On  your  broad  main  doth  wilfully  appear. 
Your  shallowest  help  will  hold  me  up  afloat, 
Whilst  he  upon  your  soundless  deep  doth  ride; 
Or,  being  wreck'd,  I  am  a  worthless  boat, 
He  of  tall  building,  and  of  goodly  pride : 
Then  if  he  thrive,  and  I  be  cast  away, 
The  worst  was  this, — my  love  was  my  decay." 


CHAP,    ix.]  GENERAL'  REMARKS.  205 

That  is,  his  love  of  truth,  goodness,  God ;  and  to 
fall  in  that  service  was  deemed  an  honor. 

86.  u  "Was  it  the  proud  full  sail  of  his  great  verse — 
no  doubt  referring  to  Spenser — 

Bound  for  the  prize  of  all-too-precious  you, 

That  did  my  ripe  thoughts  in  my  brain  inherse, 

Making  their  tomb  the  womb  wherein  they  grew? 

Was  it  his  spirit,  by  spirits  taught  to  write 

Above  a  mortal  pitch,  that  struck  me  dead? 

No,  neither  he,  nor  his  compeers  by  night 

Giving  him  aid,  my  verse  astonished. 

*  *  * 

I  was  not  sick  of  any  fear  from  thence  : 

But  when  your   countenance  filled  up   his  line, 
Then  lack'd  I  matter  ;  that  enfeebled  mine." 

It  was  not,  as  we  understand  this  Sonnet,  that 
Shakespeare  stood  in  fear  of  any  mortal  man,  as  a 
rival  in  doing  honor  to  Love ;  but  when  he  saw,  in 
the  lines  of  Spenser,  the  evidence  of  a  direct  inspira- 
tion from  Love  itself,  by  seeing  in  the  poet's  lines 
the  countenance  of  Love,  then  he  felt  himself 
abashed,  or  overawed ;  not  in  a  spirit  of  rivalry 
about  a  mortal  being,  as  many  suppose,  but  because 
he  knew  that  without  divine  aid,  or  that  direct  in- 


206  GENERAL  REMARKS.  [CHAP.   ix. 

spiration  invoked  in  his  own  16th  Sonnet,  he  would 
not  be  able  to  approach  the  perfection  of  Spenser's 
lines.  Yet  he  even  surpassed  Spenser  in  the  decla- 
ration of  the  One,  in  the  unity  of  the  beautiful,  the 
good,  and  the  true,  as  his  105th  Sonnet  will  show. 

Notwithstanding  the  unexpected  length  of  these 
remarks,  we  must  notice  the  fact  that  most  of  the 
lovers,  whilst  pursuing  their  inquiries,  make  very 
free  accusations  of  infidelity  against  their  mistresses. 
This  only  means,  in  reality,  that  Nature,  accord- 
ing to  her  ancient  name  of  Proteus,  is  exceedingly 
difficult  to  hold  in  any  one  position  long  enough  to 
permit  examination ;  for  while  the  student,  after 
much  devotion,  fancies  he  has  obtained  a  true  view, 
presto  !  all  is  changed  and  nothing  appears  as  it  did, 
nothing  seems  to  have  been  accomplished. 

This  character  of  Nature  is  perfectly  represented 
in  the  story  of  The  Man  of  Fifty,  in  the  12th  chap- 
ter of  Meister's  Travels,  Carlyle's  translation,  in 
which  the  widow  represents  Nature;  the  major, 
intellect ;  and  Hillario,  faith.  When  the  young 
intellect,  the  major's  son,  acquaints  the  father  with 
the  state  of  the  question  between  himself  and  the 
widow>  and  the  father  intimates  doubts  calculated 


CHAP,  ix.]  GENERAL  REMARKS.  207 

to  calm  the  enthusiasm  of  the  son,  the  answer  is 
precisely  true  of  Nature : 

"  That  is  just  her  soft,  silent,  half-concealing,  half-discovering 
way,  by  which  you  become  certain  of  your  wishes,  and  yet  can 
never  altogether  get  rid  of  doubt." 

And  then  the  son  describes,  in  transports,  the 
beauty  of  the  widow  as  she  walked  to  and  fro 
through  the  open  doors,  along  the  whole  suite  of 
chambers  (or  wherever  Nature  is  seen),  and  adds: 

"  If  she  was  beautiful  while  moving  under  the  blaze  of  the 
lusters  [i.  e.,  in  open  day],  she  was  infinitely  more  so  when  illumin- 
ated by  the  soft  gleam  of  the  lamp," 

(To  wit,  the  conscience),  which  is  described  as  at  the 
end  of  the  hall  in  a  small  cabinet  (the  heart). 

Every  page  of  Meister's  Travels  is  hermetic,  and 
as  that  style  of  writing  is  now  but  little  known,  it 
might  be  useful  to  have  an  edition  of  that  wonder- 
ful work  just  sufficiently  annotated  to  awaken  atten* 
tion. 

The  editors  of  the  poets  seem  to  attach  much 
importance  to  the  sonnets,  as  illustrating  the  bio- 
graphies of  the  writers.  This  is  a  grievous  mistake, 
if  the  sonnets  are  taken  literally,  as  they  universally 


208  GENERAL  REMARKS.  [CHAP.  ix. 

are.  A  shocking  consequence  appears  in  the  case  of 
Shakespeare,  under  the  handling  of  nearly  all  of  his 
editors,  including  Hall  am  himself. 

The  inferences  from  Shakespeare's  144th  Sonnet 
are  well  known,  nearly  all  of  the  editors  accepting 
and  repeating  them  to  his  disadvantage.  Of  course, 
we  mean  to  the  disadvantage  of  the  reader;  for 
Shakespeare  is  beyond  the  reach  of  mistakes  with 
regard  to  himself.  But  the  very  same  inferences 
may  be  made  from  Spenser's  Sonnets :  for  example, 
the  10th,  in  which  the  poet  accuses  his  lady  of 
luxuriating 

"  in  licentious  bliss, 
Of  her  freewill— " 

calling  her  a  "  tyrannesse,  rejoicing  in  the  huge 
massacres  which  her  eyes  do  make,"  &c. ;  and  in 
numerous  Sonnets  similar  language  is  met  with. 
Can  the  reader  suppose  this  was  addressed  by 
Spenser  to  a  lady  whom  he  sought  in  marriage  ? 
Surely  not ;  and  how  would  a  lady  receive  a  Sonnet 
in  which  she  is  compared  to  a  "  panther,"  using  the 
arts  detailed  in  the  53d  Sonnet,  and  for  the  purpose 
therein  set  forth  ? 

It   was    Nature    that    Spenser  compared    to    a 


CHAP,  ix.]  GENERAL  REMARKS.  209 

panther,  with  a  beautiful  outside,  from  the  seduc- 
tions of  which  he  cautioned  himself,  as  in  the  37th 
he  warns  himself  against  being  entangled  in  the 
merely  visible,  compared  to  a  golden  net ;  and 
again,  in  the  47th  Sonnet,  he  warns  us  not  to 
trust 

"  The  treason  of  those  smiling  looks," 

in  the   very   same   sense  ;    these   "  smiling  looks " 

being  what  Shakespeare   calls  "  her  pretty  looks," 

which  he  tells  us  had  been  "  his  enemies,"  Sonnet 
139. 

Notwithstanding  this  deceptive  and  crafty  out- 
side, the  poets  saw  in  Nature  all  the  beauty  they 
were  capable  of  conceiving. 

Thus  Carew,  in  the  poem  addressed  to  Celia, 
upon  Love's  ubiquity,  says  : 

"  You  are  my  compass — 
in  reality  addressing  Nature — 

and  I  never  sound 

Beyond  your  circle  ;    neither  can  I  show 
Aught  but  what  first  expressed  is  in  you,"  &c. 

And  Shakespeare  devotes  a  beautiful  Sonnet  to 


210  GENERAL  REMARKS.  [CHAP.  ix. 

the  same  purpose,  making  the  same  acknowledg- 
ment of  his  entire  dependence  upon  Nature,  as  seen 
in  the  spirit : 

"  Whilst  I  alone  did   call  upon  thy  aid, 
My  verse  alone  had  all  thy  gentle  grace  ; 
But  now  my  gracious  numbers  are  decay'd, 
And  my  sick  muse  doth  give  another  place — 

possibly  referring  to  Spenser — 

I  grant,  sweet  love,  thy  lovely  argument 
Deserves  the  travail  of  a  worthier  peii ; 
Yet  what  of  thee  thy  poet  doth  invent, 
He  robs  thee  of,  and  pays  it  thee  again. 
He  lends  thee  virtue,  and  he  stole  that  word 
From  thy  behaviour  ;    beauty  doth  he  give, 
And  found  it  in  thy  cheek;   he  can  afford 
No  praise  to  thee  but  what  in  thee  doth  live. 
Then  thank  him  not  for  that  which  he  doth  say, 
Since  what  he  owes  thee  thou  thyself  dost  pay." 

What  the  poet  here  calls  the  cheek  of  his  lady  is 
the  visible  in  nature,  which,  deceitful  as  it  may  be, 
furnishes  poets  with  all  possible  images  of  beauty. 

There  is  a  poem  composed  for  illustrating  the 
Youth  of  Shakespeare,  by  the  author  of  a  work  with 
this  title,  so  exquisitely  in  keeping  with  the  idea 


CHAP,   ix.]  GENERAL  REMARKS.  211 

that  his  lady-love  was  Nature,  that  we  transfer  it 
entire  to  these  pages,  and  must  then  leave  the 
reader  to  his  own  reflections.  The  poem  is  supposed 
to  reflect  the  mind  of  Shakespeare. 


THE    POET'S    SONG    OP    HIS    SECRET    LOVE. 

1.  Upon  the  dainty  grass  I  lay  me  down, 

Where  tired  of  labor  on  my  eyelids  rest, 
And  then  such  glad  solace  I  make  my  own 

As  none  can  know,  for  none  can  be  so  blessed. 
For  then  my  sweeting  comes  so  gallantlie, 

I  cannot  but  conceive  she  loveth  me. 

• 

2.  I  prythee  tell  me  not  of  such  bright  fires, 

As  burn  by  day  or  night  in  yon  fair  skies : 
For  when  I  bring  her  to  my  chaste  desires, 

Sun,  moon,  and  stars  are  shining  in  her  eyes. 
For  then  my  sweeting  so  well-favoredlie 
With  heaven-like  gaze  declares  she  loveth  me  ! 

3.  The  tender  blossoms  blush  upon  their  bowers, 

The  luscious  fruit  hangs  trembling  by  the  leaf: 
But  her  rose-tinted  cheek  out-glows  all  flowers, 

Her  cherry  lips  of  fruits  I  prize  the  chief. 
For  then  my  sweeting  so  delightsomlie 
Doth  take  her  oath  upon't  she  loveth  me  ! 


212  GENERAL  REMARKS.          [CH 

4.  Alack,  what  pity  'tis,  such  moving  sight 

Should  cheat  my  heart  within  an  idle  dream ! 
"Pis  fantasy  that  brings  such  loving  h'ght — 
The  fruit  I  never  taste — but  only  seem: 
0  would  my  sweeting  in  all  honestie 
Vouchsafe  to  give  some  sign  she  loveth  me  I 


6.  I  take  no  pleasure  now  in  pleasant  sports, 

I  find  no  profit  in  books  old  or  new  ; 
I  hie  me  where  my  life's  fair  queen  resorts, 

For  she's  my  pastime  and  my  study  too  ; 
And  of  my  sweeting  say  I  urgentlie, 
What  would  I  give  to  know  she  loveth  me ! 

6.  Yet  though  with  her  my  heart  so  long  hath  been, 

I  know  not  she  takes  heed  of  my  behoof ; 
I  gaze  on  her,  yet  care  not  to  be  seen — 

I  long  to  speak,  and  yet  I  keep  aloof. 
And  whilst  my  sweeting  fills  my  thoughts — perdie  ! 
How  oft  I  think — perchance  she  loveth  me. 

7.  Where'er  I  turn  methinks  I  see  her  face, 

If  any  lovely  thing  can  there  be  found  ; 
The  air  I  breathe  is  haunted  with  her  grace, 

And  with  her  looks  the  flowers  peep  from  the  ground. 
I  pray  my  sweeting,  very  earnestlie, 
She  may  incline  to  say  she  loveth  me. 


CHAP,  ix.]          GENERAL  REMARKS.  213 

8.  But  when  from  all  fair  things  I  travel  far, 

Enwrapt  within  the  shroud  of  darkest  night ; 
She  rises  through  the  shadows  like  a  star, 

And  with  her  beauty  maketh  the  place  bright.1 
And  of  my  sweeting  breathe  I  tenderlie, 
Fortune  be  kind,  and  prove  she  loveth  me. 

Yes :  we  must  add  a  few  lines  from  George 
Withers,  addressed  expressly  to  his  MUSE  ;  and  the 
reader  is  requested,  after  reading  them,  to  turn  to 
the  29th,  30th,  and  31st  Sonnets  of  Shakespeare,  and 
observe  how  readily  the  inference  follows  that  these 
were  also  addressed  to  the  poet's  MUSE. 

"  She's  my  mind's  companion  still, 
Spite  of  Envy's  evil  will ; 
She  doth  tell  me  where  to  borrow 
Comfort  in  the  midst  of  sorrow; 
Makes  the  desolatest  place 
To  her  presence  be  a  grace  ; 
And  the  blackest  discontents 
To  be  pleasing  ornaments. 
In  my  former  days  of  bliss, 
Her  divine  skill  taught  me  this — * 
That  from  everything  I  saw 
I  could  some  invention  draw, 

1  Vide  Shakespeare's  Sonnet,  27. 


214  GENERAL  REMARKS. 

And  raise  pleasure  to  her  height, 
Through  the  meanest  object's  sight ; 
By  the  murmur  of  a  spring, 
Or  the  least  bough  rustleing, — 
By  a  daisy  whose  leaves,  spread, 
Shut  when  Titan  goes  to  bed, — 
Or  a  shady  bush  or  tree, — 
She  could  more  infuse  in  me 
Than  all  Nature's  beauties  can 
In  some  other  wiser  man." 


AMOEETTI, 

OR 

SONNETS. 

BY  EDM.  SPENSER. 


NOTE  BY  PREVIOUS  EDITORS. 

The  Amoretti,  or  Sonnets,  describe  the  commencement  and  progress  of 
Spenser's  love  for  the  lady  whom  he  married,  which  event  is  made  the 
subject  of  the  Epithalamion  which  follows.  All  we  know  of  her  is,  that 
her  name  was  Elizabeth,  as  appears  from  the  seventy-fourth  Sonnet.  In 
the  sixtieth  Sonnet,  he  informs  us  that  he  was  then  forty  years  old,  and 
that  a  year  had  passed  since  the  commencement  of  his  passion.  These 
Sonnets  are  interesting,  as  illustrating  the  biography  of  the  poet ;  and  they 
are  also  remarkable  for  that  purity  and  delicacy  of  feeling  so  characteris- 
tic of  Spenser,  into  the  sanctuary  of  whose  mind  no  coarse  or  unhandsome 
image  ever  intruded  itself.  But  their  literary  merit  is  not  more  than  re- 
spectable, and  in  no  form  of  poetical  composition  is  mediocrity  less  tole- 
rable than  the  sonnet.  They  are  not  free  from  the  cold  conceits  of  his 
age,  and  their  monotonous  and  languid  flow  of  sentiment  is  seldom  enliv- 
ened by  rich  poetry,  or  any  uncommon  beauty  of  language.  They  natu- 
rally provoke  a  comparison  with  Shakspeare's  Sonnets,  to  which  they  are 
greatly  inferior. 

[The  author  of  these  remarks  dissents  from  the  opinion  here  expressed, 
and  refers  to  his  remarks  for  his  reasons.] 


G.  W.  SENIOR,* 

TO  THE  AUTHOE. 

DAKKE  is  the  day,  when  Phoebus  face  is  shrouded, 
And  weaker  sights  may  wander  soone  astray : 
But,  when  they  see  his  glorious  rays  unclouded, 
With  steddy  steps  they  keep  the  perfect  way : 
So,  while  this  Muse  in  forraine  land  doth  stay, 
Invention  weeps,  and  pens  are  cast  aside ; 
The  time,  like  night,  deprived  of  chearfull  day; 
And  few  do  write,  but  (ah!)  too  soon  may  slide 
Then,  hie  thee  home,  that  art  our  perfect  guide, 
And  with  thy  wit  illustrate  England's  fame, 
Daunting  thereby  our  neighbours  ancient  pride, 
That  do,  for  Poesie,  challenge  chiefest  name: 
So  we  that  live,  and  ages  that  succeed, 
"With  great  applause  thy  learned  works  shall  read. 


AH!    Colin,  whether  on  the  lowly  plaine, 
Piping  to  shepherds  thy  sweet  roundelays ; 
Or  whether  singing,  in  some  lofty  vaine, 
Heroicke  deeds  of  past  or  present  days ; 

*  "  Perhaps  George  Whetstone,  a  poetaster  and  dramatic  writer,  in  the 
v«ign  of  Elizabeth."— TODD. 
10 


218  G.   W.    SENIOR,   TO   THE   AUTHOR. 

Or  whether,  in  thy  lovely  Mistresse  praise, 

Thou  list  to  exercise  thy  learned  quill ; 

Thy  Muse  hath  got  such  grace  and  power  to  please, 

With  rare  invention,  beautified  by  skill, 

As  who  therein  can  ever  ioy  their  fill! 

O!   therefore  let  that  happy  Muse  proceed 

To  clime  the  height  of  Yertues  sacred  hill, 

Where  endlesse  honour  shall  be  made  thy  meed: 
Because  no  malice  of  succeeding  daies 
Can  rase  those  records  of  thy  lasting  praise. 

G.  W.  JUNE. 


AMOKETTI, 

OB 

SONNETS. 


HAPPY,  ye  leaves!    when  as  those  lilly  hands, 
Which  hold  my  life  in  their  dead-doing  might, 
Shall  handle  you,  and  hold  in  loves  soft  hands, 
Lyke  captives  trembling  at  the  victors  sight. 
And  happy  lines!    on  which,  with  starry  light, 
Those  lamping  eyes  will  deigne  sometimes  to  look, 
And  reade  the  sorrowes  of  my  dying  spright, 
Written  with  teares  in  harts  close-bleeding  book. 
And  happy  rymes!   bath'd  in  the  sacred  brooke 
Of  Helicon,   whence  she  derived  is; 
When  ye  behold  that  Angels  blessed  looke, 
My  soules  long-lacked  food,  my  heavens  blis ; 
Leaves,  lines,  and  rymes,  seeke  her  to  please  alone, 
"Whom  if  ye  please,  I  care  for  other  none ! 

Vide  REMARKS,  pp.  95,  102. 


220  THE   AMORETTI. 


II. 


Unquiet  thought!    whom  at  the  first  I  bred 
Of  th'  inward  bale   of  my  love-pined  hart; 
And  sithens1  have  with  sighes  and  sorrowes  fed, 
Till  greater  than  my  wombe  thou  woxen  art: 
Breake  forth  at  length  out  of  th'  inner  part, 
In  which  thou  lurkest  lyke  to  vipers   brood  ; 
And  seeke  some  succour  both  to  ease  my  smart, 
And  also  to  sustayne  thy  selfe  with  food. 
But,  if  hi  presence  of  that  fayrest  Proud 
Thou  chance  to  come,  fall  lowly  at  her  feet ; 
And,  with  meek  humblesse  and  afflicted  mood, 
Pardon  for  thee,  and  grace  for  me,  intreat: 

"Which  if  she  graunt,  then  live,  and  my  love  cherish : 
If  not,  die  soone ;    and  I  with  thee  will  perish. 

1  Sithens,  since  that  time. 


THE   AMORETTI.  221 


in. 


The  soverayne  beauty  which  I  doo  admyre, 
Witnesse  the  world  how  worthy  to  be  prayzed ! 
The  light  wherof  hath  kindled  heavenly  fyre 
In  my  fraile  spirit,  by  her  from  basenesse  raysed ; 
That  being  now  withTier  huge  brightnesse  dazed,1 
Ba£e  thing  I  can  no  more  endure  to  view : 
But,  looking  still  on  her,  'I  stand  amazed 
At  wondrous  sight  of  so  celestiall  hew. 
So  when  my  toung  would  speak  her  praises  dew, 
It  stopped  is  with  thoughts  astonishment; 
And,  when  my  pen  would  write  her  titles'  true, 
It  ravisht  is  with  fancies  wonderment: 
Yet  in  my  hart  I  then  both  speak  and  write 
The  wonder  that  my  wit  cannot  endite. 

1  Dazed,  dazzled. 


222  THE   AMOBETTI. 


IV. 


New  yeare,  forth  looking  out  of  lanus  gate, 
Doth  seeme  to  promise  hope  of  new  delight:  « 
And,  bidding  th'  old  adieu,  his  passed  date 
Bids  all  old  thoughts  to  die  in  dumpish1  spright: 
And,  calling  forth  out  of  sad  Winters  night 
Fresh  Love,  that  long  hath  slept  in  cheerlesse  bower, 
"Wils  him  awake,  and  soone  about  him  dight     . 
His  wanton  wings  and  darts  of  deadly  power. 
For  lusty  Spring  now  in  his  timely  howre 
Is  ready  to  come  forth,  him  to  receive ; 
And  warns  the  Earth  with  divers-colord  flowre 
To  decke  hir  selfe,  and  her  faire  mantle  weave. 
Then  you,  faire  flowre !  in  whom  fresh  youth  doth  raine, 
Prepare  your  selfe  new  love  to  entertaine. 

1  Dumpish,  mournful. 


THE  AMORETTI.  223 


V. 


Rudely  thou  wrongest  my  deare  harts  desire, 
In  finding  fault  with  her  too  portly  pride: 

Thfe  thing  which  I  doo  most  in  her  admire, 

i 

Is  of  the  world  unworthy  most  envide : 
£or  in  those  lofty  lookes  is  close  implide, 
Scorn  of  base  things,  and  sdeigne  of  foul  dishonor; 
Thretning  rash  eies  which  gaze  on  her  so  wide, 
That  loosely  they  ne  dare  to  looke  upon  her. 
Such  pride  is  praise ;    such  portlinesse  is  honor ; 
That  boldned  innocence  beares  in  hir  eies; 
And  her  faire  countenance,  like  a  goodly  banner, 
Spreds  in  defiaunce  of  all  enemies. 
Was  never  in  this  world  ought  worthy  tride, 
"Without  some  spark  of  such  self-pleasing  pride. 


224  THE    AMORETTI. 


VI. 


Be  nought  dismayd  that  her  unmoved  mind 
Doth  still  persist  in  her  rebellious  pride: 
Such  love,  not  lyke  to  lusts  of  baser  kynd, 
The  harder  wonne,  the  firmer  will  abide. 
The  durefull  oake,  whose  sap  is  not  yet  dride, 
Is  long  ere  it  conceive  the  kindling  fyre  ; 
But,  when  it  once  doth  burne,  it  doth  divide 
Great  heat,  and  makes  his  flames  to  heaven  aspire. 
So  hard  it  is  to  kindle  new  desire 
In  gentle  brest,  that  shall  endure  for  ever: 
Deepe  is  the  wound,  that  dints  the  parts  entire 
With  chaste  affects,  that  naught  but  death  can  sever. 
Then  thinke  not  long  in  taking  little  paine 
To  knit  the  knot,  that  ever  shall  remaine. 


THE   AMORETTI.  225 


VII. 

Fayre  eyes!    the  myrrour  of  my  mazed  hart, 
'What  wondrous  vertue  is  contayn'd  in  you, 
The  which  both  lyfe  and  death  forth  from  you  dart 
Into  the  obiect  of  your  mighty  view? 
For,  when  ye  mildly  looke  with  lovely  hew, 
Then  is  my  soule  with  life  and  love  inspired: 
But  when  ye  lowre,  or  looke  on  me  askew, 
Then  do  I  die,  as  one  with  lightning  fyred. 
But,  since  that  lyfe  is  more  then  death  desyred, 
Looke  ever  lovely,  as  becomes  you  best; 
That  your  bright  beams,  of  my  weak  eies  admyred, 
May  kindle  living  fire  within  my  brest. 
Such  life  should  be  the  honor  of  your  light, 
Such  death  the  sad  ensample  of  your  might. 


10* 


226  THE   AMORETTI. 


VIH. 

More  then  most  faire,  full  of  the  living  fire, 
Kindled  above  unto  the  Maker  nere; 
No  eies  but  ioyes,  in  which  al  powers  conspire, 
That  to  the  world  naught  else  be  counted  deare. 
Thrugh  your  bright  beams  doth  not  the  blinded  guest 
Shoot  out  his  darts  to  base  affections  wound; 
[JBut  Angels  come  to  lead  fraile  mindes  to  rest 
In  chast  desires,  on  heavenly  beauty  bouikLj 
You  frame  my  thoughts,  and  fashion  me  within; 
You  stop  my  toung,  and  teach  my  hart  to  speake; 
You  calme  the  storme  that  passion  did  begin, 
Strong  thrugh  your  cause,  but  by  your  vertue  weak. 
Dark  is  the  world,  where  your  light  shined  never; 
Well  is  he  borne,  that  may  behold  you  ever. 


THE   AMOEETTI.  227 


IX. 


Long-while  I  sought  to  what  I  might  compare 

Those  powrefull  eies,  which  lighten  my  dark  spright: 

Yet  find  I  nought  on  earth,  to  which  I  dare 

Kesemble  th'  ymage  of  their  goodly  light. 

Not  to  the  Sun ;  for  they  doo  shine  by  night ; 

Nor  to  the  Moone;    for  they  are  changed  never; 

Nor  to  the  Starres;    for  they  have  purer  sight; 

Nor  to  the  Fire ;    for  they  consume  not  ever ; 

Nor  to  the  Lightning;    for  they  still  persever; 

Nor  to  the  Diamond ;    for  they  are  more  tender ; 

Nor  unto  Oristall;    for  nought  may  them  sever; 

Nor  unjo  Glasse;    such  basenesse  mought  ofifend  her. 
Then  to  the  Maker  selfe  they  likest  be, 
Whose  light  doth  lighten  all  that  here  we  see. 

Vide  REMARKS,  p.  36. 


228  THE    AMORETTI. 


Unrighteous  Lord  of  love,  what  law  is  this, 

That  me  thou  makest  thus  tormented  be, 

The  whiles  she  lordeth  in  licentious  blisse 

Of  her  freewill,  scorning  both  thee  and  me? 

See!    how  the  Tyrannesse  doth  ioy  to  see 

The  hugh  massacres  which  her  eyes  do  make; 

And  humbled  harts  brings  captive  unto  thee, 

That  thou  of  them  mayst  mightie  vengeance  take. 

But  her  proud  hart  doe  thou  a  little  shake, 

And  that  high  look,  with  which  she  doth  comptroll 

All  this  worlds  pride,  bow  to  a  baser  make, 

And  al  her, faults  in  thy  black  booke  enroll: 

* 
That  I  may  laugh  at  her  in  equall  sort, 

As  she  doth  laugh  at  me,  and  makes  my  pain  her  sport. 


THE   AMORETTI.  229 


XI. 


Dayly  when  I  do  seeke  and  sew  for  peace, 
And  hostages  doe  offer  for  my  truth; 
She,  cruell  warriour,  doth  her  selfe  addresse 
To  battell,  and  the  weary  war  renew'th ; 
Newilbe  moov'd  with  reason,  or  with  rewth,1 
To  graunt  small  respit  to  my  restlesse  toile; 
But  greedily  her  fell  intent  poursewth, 
Of  my  poore  life  to  make  unpittied  spoile. 
Yet  my  poore  life,  all  sorrowes  to  assoyle,8 
I  would  her  yield,  her  wrath  to  pacify: 
But  then  she  seeks,  with  torment  and  turmoyle, 
To  force  me  live,  and  will  not  let  me  dy. 

All  paine  hath  end,  *and  every  war  hath  peace; 

But  mine,  no  price  nor  prayer  may  surcease. 

1  Rewth,  ruth,  pity.  a  Assoyle^  remove. 


230  THE    AMORETTI. 


xn. 

One  day  I  sought  with  her  hart-thrilling  eies 
To  make  a  truce,  and  termes  to  entertaine; 
All  fearlesse  then  of  so  false  emmies, 
Which  sought  me  to  entrap  in  treasons  traine. 
So,  as  I  then  disarmed  did  remaine, 
A  wicked  ambush  which  lay  hidden  long, 
In  the  close  covert  of  her  guilful  eyen, 
Thence  breaking  forth,  did  thick  about  me  throng. 
Too  feeble  I  t'  abide  the  brunt  so  strong, 
Was  forst  to  yield  my  selfe  into  their  hands; 
Who,  me  captiving  streight  with  rigorous  wrong, 
Have  ever  since  kept  me  in  cruell  bands. 
So,  Ladie,  now  to  you  I  doo  complaine, 
Against  your  eies,  that  iustice  I  may  gaine. 


THE   AMORETTI.  231 


XIIL 

In  that  proud  port,  which  her  so  goodly  graceth, 

Whiles  her  faire  face  she  reares  up  to  the  skie, 

And  to  the  ground  her  eie-lids  low  embaseth, 

Most  goodly  temperature  ye  may  descry ; 

Myld  huniblesse,  mixt  with  awfull  maiestie. 

For,  looking  on  the  earth  whence  she  was  borne, 

Her  minde  remembreth  her  mortalitie, 

"Whatso  is  fayrest  shall  to  earth  returne. 

But  that  same  lofty  countenance  seemes  to  scorne 

Base  thing,  and  thinke  how  she  to  heaven  may  clime; 

Treading  downe  earth  as  lothsome  and  forlorne, 

That  hinders  heavenly  thoughts  with  drossy  slime. 

Yet  lowly  still  vouchsafe  to  looke  on  me; 

Such  lowlinesse  shall  make  you  lofty  be. 

Vide  REMARKS,  p.  118. 


232  THE   AMOEETTI. 


XIV. 

Retourne  agayne,  my  forces  late  dismay d, 

Unto  the  siege  by  you  abandon'd  quite. 

Great  shame  it  is  to  leave,  like  one  afrayd, 

So  fayre  a  peece,1  for  one  repulse  so  light. 

'Gaynst  such  strong  castles  needeth  greater  might 

Then  those  small  forts  which  ye  were  wont  belay : a 

Such  haughty  mynds,  enur'd  to  hardy  fight, 

Disdayne  to  yield  unto. the  first  assay. 

Bring  therefore  all  the  forces  that  ye  may, 

And  lay  incessant  battery  to  her  heart; 

Playnts,   prayers,  vowes,  ruth,   sorrow,  and  dismay  ; 

Those  engins  can  the  proudest  love  convert : 

And,  if  those  fayle,  fall  down  and  dy  before  her; 

So  dying  live,  and  living  to  adore  her. 

1  Peece,  castle.  ?  Belay,  place  in  ambush. 


THE   AMOEETTI.  233 


XY. 

Ye  tradefull  Merchants,  that,  with  weary  toyle, 

Do  seeke  most  pretious  things  to  make  your  gain; 

And  both  the  Indias  of  their  treasure  spoile ; 

"What  needeth  you  to  seeke  so  farre  in  vaine? 

For  loe,  my  Love  doth  in  her  selfe  containe 

All  this  worlds  riches  that  may  farre  be  found : 

If  Saphyres,  loe,  her  eies  be  Saphyres  plaine; 

If  Eubies,  loe,  hir  lips  be  Eubies  sound ; 

If  Pearles,  hir  teeth  be  Pearles,  both  pure  and  round ; 

If  Yvorie,  her  forhead  Yvory  weene ; 

If  Gold,  her  locks  are  finest  Gold  on  ground; 

If  Silver,  her  faire  hands  are  Silver  sheene : l 
But  that  which  fairest  is,  but  few  behold, 
Her  mind  adornd  with  vertues  manifold. 

1  Sheene,  bright. 


234  THE    AMOEETTI. 


XVI. 

One  day  as  I  unwarily  did  gaze 
On  those  fayre  eyes,  my  loves  immortall  light; 
The  whilest  my  stonisht  hart  stood  in  amaze, 
Through  sweet  illusion  of  her  lookes  delight; 
I  mote  perceive  how,  in  her  glauncing  sight, 
Legions  of  Loves  with  little  wings  did  fly ; 
Darting  their  deadly  arrows,  fyry  bright, 
At  every  rash  beholder  passing  by. 
One  of  those  archers  closely  I  did  spy, 
Ayming  his  arrow  at  my  very  hart: 
When  suddenly,  with  twincle  of  her  eye, 
The  Damzell  broke  his  misintended  dart. 

Had  she  not  so  doon,  sure  I  had  bene  slayne; 

Yet  as  it  was,  I  hardly  scap't  with  paine. 


THE  AMORETTI.  235 


XVII. 

The  glorious  pourtraict  of  that  Angels  face, 
Made  to  amaze  weake  mens  confused  skil, 
And  this  worlds  worthlesse  glory  to  embase, 
"What  pen,  what  pencill,  can  expresse  her  fill? 
For  though  he  colours  could  devise  at  will, 
And  eke  his  learned  hand  at  pleasure  guide, 
Least,  trembling,  it  his  workmanship  should  spill;1 
Yet  many  wondrous  things  there  are  beside: 
The  sweet  eye-glaunces,  that  like  arrowes  glide; 
The  charming  smiles,  that  rob  sence  from  the  hart; 
The  lovely  pleasance ;    and  the  lofty  pride ; 
Cannot  expressed  be  by  any  art. 
A  greater  craffcesmans  hand  thereto  doth  neede, 
That  can  expresse  the  life  of  things  indeed. 

1  Spill,  spoil. 


236  THE    AMORETTI. 


XVIII. 

The  rolling  wheele  that  runneth  often  round, 
The  hardest  steele,  in  tract  of  time  doth  teare: 
And  drizling  drops,  that  often  doe  redound, 
The  firmest  flint  doth  in  continuance  weare : 
Yet  cannot  I,  with  many  a  drooping  teare 
And  long  intreaty,  soften  her  hard  hart; 
That  she  will  once  vouchsafe  my  plaint  to  heare, 
Or  looke  with  pitty  on  my  payneful  smart. 
But,  when  I  pleade,  she  bids  me  play  my  part; 
And,  when  I  weep,  she  sayes,  Teares  are  but  water; 
And,  when  I  sigh,  she  sayes,  I  know  the  art ; 
And,  when  I  waile,  she  turnes  hir  selfe  to  laughter. 
So  do  I  weepe,  and  wayle,  and  pleade  in  vaine, 
Whiles  she  as  steele  and  flint  doth  still  remayne. 


THE    AMORETTI.  237 


XIX. 

The  merry  Cuckow,  messenger  of  Spring, 
His  trompet  shrill  hath  thrise  already  sounded, 
That  warnes  al  Lovers  wayte  upon  their  king, 
Who  now  is  coming  forth  with  girlond  crouned. 
With  noyse  whereof  the  quyre  of  Byrds  resounded 
Their  anthemes  sweet,  devized  of  loves  prayse, 
That  all  the  woods  theyr  ecchoes  back  rebounded, 
As  if  they  knew  the  meaning  of  their  layes. 
But  mongst  them  all,  which  did  Loves  honor  rayse, 
No  word  was  heard  of  her  that  most  it  ought ; 
But  she  his  precept  proudly  disobayes, 
And  doth  his  ydle  message  set  at  nought. 
Therefore,  0  Love,  unlesse  she  turne  to  thee 
Ere  Cuckow  end,  let  her  a  rebell  be! 


238  THE    AMORETTT. 


XX. 

In  vaine  I  seeke  and  sew  to  her  for  grace, 
And  doe  myne  humbled  hart  before  her  poure; 
The  whiles  her  foot  she  in  my  necke  doth  place, 
And  tread  my  life  downe  in  the  lowly  floure.1 
And  yet  the  lyon  that  is  lord  of  power, 
And  reigneth  over  every  beast  in  field, 
In  his  most  pride  disdeigneth  to  devoure 
The  silly  lambe  that  to  his  might  doth  yield. 
But  she,  more  cruell,  and  more  salvage  wylde, 
Than  either  lyon,  or  the  lyonesse, 
Shames  not  to  be  with  guiltlesse  bloud  defylde, 
But  taketh  glory  in  her  cruelnesse. 
Fayrer  then  fayrest!    let  none  ever  say, 
That  ye  were  blooded  in  a  yeelded  pray. 

1  Floure,  floor,  ground. 


THE   AMOEETTI.     -  239 


XXI. 

"Was  it  the  worke  of  Nature  or  of  Art, 

Which  tempred  so  the  feature  of  her  face, 

That  pride  and  meeknesse,  mixt  by  equall  part, 

Doe  both  appeare  t'  adorne  her  beauties  grace? 

For  with  mild  pleasance,  which  doth  pride  displace, 

She  to  her  love  doth  lookers  eyes  allure ;  « 

And,  with  stern  countenance,  back  again  doth  chace 

Their  looser  lookes  that  stir  up  lustes  impure ; 

With  such  strange  termes  her  eyes  she  doth  inure, 

That,  with  one  looke,  she  doth  my  life  dismay ; 

And  with  another  doth  it  streight  recure  ; 

Her  smile  me  drawes;  her  frowne  me  drives  away. 

Thus  doth  she  traine  and  teach  me  with  her  lookes  ; 

Such  art  of  eyes  I  never  read  in  bookes  ! 


240  THE   AMORETTI. 


XXII. 

This  holy  season,  fit  to  fast  and  pray, 
Men  to  devotion  ought  to  be  inclyned: 
Therefore,  I  likewise,  on  so  holy  day, 
For  my  sweet  Saynt  some  service  fit  will  find. 
Her  temple  fayre  is  built  within  my  mind, 
In  which  her  glorious  ymage  placed  is ; 
On  which  my  thoughts  doo  day  and  night  attend, 
Lyke  sacred  Priests  that  never  thinke  amisse; 
There  I  to  her,  as  th'  author  of  my  blisse, 
Will  bullde  an  altar  to  appease  her  yre ; 
And  on  the  same  my  hart  will  sacrifise, 
Burning  in  flames  of  pure  and  chaste  desyre : 
The  Which;  vouchsafe,  O  G-oddesse,  to  accept, 
Amongst  thy  deerest  relicks  to  be  kept. 


THE   AMOBETTI.  241 


XXIII. 

Penelope,  for  her  Ulisses  sake, 
Deviz'd  a  Web  her  wooers  to  deceave ; 
In  which  the  worke  that  she  all  day  did  make, 
The  same  at  night  she  did  againe  unreave : 
Such  subtile  craft  my  Damzell  doth  conceave, 
Th'  importune  suit  of  my  desire  to  shonne : 
For  all  that  I  in  many  dayes  do  weave, 
In  one  short  houre  I  find  by  her  undonne. 
So,  when  I  thinke  to  end  that  I  begonne, 
I  must  begin  and  never  bring  to  end : 
For,  with  one  looke,  she  spils1  that  long  I  sponne; 
And,  with  one  word,  my  whole  years  work  doth  rend. 
Such  labour  like  the  spyders  web  I  fynd, 
"Whose  fruitlesse  worke  is  broken  with  least  wynd: 

lSpils,  spoils. 


11 


242  THE  AMOEETTI. 


XXIV. 

When  I  behold  that  beauties  wonderment, 
And  rare  perfection  of  each  goodly  part; 
Of  Natures  skill  the  onely  complement; 
I  honor  and  admire  the  Makers  art. 
But  when  I  feele  the  bitter  balefull  smart, 
Which  her  fayre  eyes  unwares  doe  worke  in  mee, 
That  death  out  of  theyr  shiny  beames  doe  4art; 
I  thinke  that  I  a  new  Pandora  see, 
Whom  all  the  gods  in  councell  did  agree 
Into  this  sinfull  world  from  heaven  to  send; 
That  she  to  wicked  men  a  scourge  should  bee, 
For  all  their  faults  with  which  they  did  offend. 
But,  since  ye  are  my  scourge,  I  will  intreat, 
That  for  my  faults  ye  will  me  gently  beat. 


THE   AMOEETTI.  243 


XXV. 

How  long  shall  this  lyke  dying  lyfe  endure, 
And  know  no  end  of  her  owne  mysery, 
But  wast  and  weare  away  in  termes  unsure, 
'Twixt  feare  and  hope  depending  doubtfully! 
Yet  better  were  attonce  to  let  me  die, 
And  shew  the  last  ensample  of  your  pride; 
Then  to  torment  me  thus  with  cruelty, 
To  prove  your  powre,  which  I  too  wel  have  tride. 
But  yet  if  in  your  hardned  brest  ye  hide 
A  close  intent  at  last  to  shew  me  grace ; 
Then  all  the  woes  and  wrecks,  which  I  abide, 
As  meanes  of  blisse  I  gladly  wil  embrace; 
And  wish  that  more  and  greater  they  might  be, 
That  greater  meede  at  last  may  turne  to  mee. 


244  THE   AMOKETTI. 


XXVI. 

Sweet  is  the  Kose,  but  growes  upon  a  brere; 

Sweet  is  the  lunipeer,  but  sharpe  his  bough ; 

Sweet  is  the  Eglantine,  but  pricketh  nere; 

Sweet  is  the  Firbloome,  but  his  braunches  rough; 

Sweet  is  the  Cypresse,  but  his  rynd  is  rough; 

Sweet  is  the  Nut,  but  bitter  is  his  pill; 

Sweet  is  the  Broome-flowre,  but  yet  sowre  enough; 

And  sweet  is  Moly,  but  his  root  is  ill. 

So  every  sweet  with  soure  is  tempred  still, 

That  maketh  it  be  coveted  the  more: 

For  easie  things,  that  may  be  got  at  will, 

Most  sorts  of  men  doe  set  but  little  store. 
"Why  then  should  I  accompt  of  little  paine, 
That  endlesse  pleasure  shall  unto  me  gaine! 


THE  AMORETTI.  245 


XXVII. 

Faire  Proud!    now  tell  me,  why  should  faire  be  proud, 

Sith  l  all  worlds  glorie  is  but  drosse  uncleane, 

And  in  the  shade  of  death  it  selfe  shall  shroud, 

However  now  thereof  ye  little  weene ! 

That  goodly  Idoll,  now  so  gay  beseene, 

Shall  doffe2  her  fleshes  borrowd  fayre  attyre; 

And  be  forgot  as  it  had  never  beene; 

That  many  now  much  worship  and  admire! 

Ne  any  then  shall  after  it  inquire, 

Ne  any  mention  shall  thereof  remaine, 

But  what  this  verse,  that  never  shall  expyre, 

Shall  to  you  purchas  with  her  thankles  pain! 

Faire !    be  no  lenger  proud  of  that  shall  perish  ; 

But  that,  which  shall  you  make  immortall,  cherish* 

1  Sith,  since,  9  Doffe>  put  off. 


246  THE   AMORJfiTTI. 


xxvin. 

The  laurel-leafe,  which  you  this  day  doe  weare, 
Gives  me  great  hope  of  your  relenting  mynd: 
For  since  it  is  the  badge  which  I  doe  beare, 
Ye,  bearing  it,  doe  seeme  to  me  inclind: 
The  powre  thereof,  which  ofte  in  me  I  find, 
Let  it  lykewise  your  gentle  brest  inspire 
With  sweet  infusion,  and  put  you  in  mind 
Of  that  proud  Mayd,  whom  now  those  leaves  attyre: 
Proud  Daphne,  scorning  Phoebus  lovely  fyre, 
On   the  Thessalian  shore  from  him  did  flie: 
For  which  the  gods,  in  theyr  revengefull  yre, 
Did  her  transforms  into  a  Laurell-tree. 
Then  fly  no  more,  fayre  Love,  from  Phebus  chace, 
But  in  your  brest  his  leafe  and  love  embrace. 


THE   AMORETTI.  247 


XXIX. 

See!    how  the  stubborne  Damzell  doth  deprave 
My  simple  meaning  with  disdaynfull  scorne; 
And  by  the  bay,  which  I  unto  her  gave, 
Accoumpts  my  self  her  captive  quite  forlorne. 
The  bay,  quoth  she,  is  of  the  victours  born, 
Yielded  them  by  the  vanquisht  as  theyr  meeds, 
And  they  therewith  doe  Poetes  heads  adorne, 
To  sing  the  glory  of  their  famous  deeds. 
But  sith l  she  will  the  conquest  challeng  needs, 
Let  her  accept  me  as  her  faithfull  thrall; 
That  her  great  triumph,  which  my  skill  exceeds, 
I  may  in  trump  of  fame  blaze  over  all. 

Then  would  I  decke  her  head  with  glorious  bayes, 
And  fill  the  world  with  her  victorious  prayse. 

1  Sith,  since. 


248  THE  AMORETTI, 


XXX. 

My  Love  is  lyke  to  yse,  and  I  to  fyre; 
How  comes  it  then  that  this  her  cold  so  great 
Is  not  dissolv'd  through  my  so  hot  desyre, 
But  harder  growes  the  more  I  her  intreat! 
Or  how  comes  it  that  my  exceeding  heat 
Is  not  delayd l  by  her  hart-frosen  cold  ; 
But  that  I  burne  much  more  in  boyling  sweat, 
And  feele  my  flames  augmented  manifold! 
What  more  miraculous  thing  may  be  told, 
That  fire,  which  all  things  melts,  should  harden  yse; 
And  yse,  which  is  congeald  with  sencelesse  cold, 
Should  kindle  fyre  by  wonderful  devyse! 
Such  is  the  powre  of  love  in  gentle  mind, 
That  it  can  alter  all  the  course  of  kynd. 

1  Delay $,  tempered. 


THE   AMOKETTI.  249 


XXXI. 

Ah !    why  hath  Nature  to  so  hard  a  hart 
Given  so  goodly  giftes  of  beauties  grace ! 
Whose  pryde  depraves  each  other  better  part, 
And  all  those  pretious  ornaments  deface. 
Sith l  to  all  other  beastes,  of  bloody  race, 
A  dreadfull  countenance  she  given  hath ; 
That  with  theyr  terrour  all  the  rest  may  chace, 
And  warne  to  shun  the  daunger  of  theyr  wrath. 
But  my  proud  one  doth  worke  the  greater  scath,2 
Through  sweet  allurement  of  her  lovely  hew ; 
That  she  the  better  may,  in  bloody  bath 
Of  such  poore  thralls,  her  cruell  hands  embrew. 
But,  did  she  know  how  ill  these  two  accord, 
Such  cruelty  she  would  have  soone  abhord. 

i  Sith,  since.  a  Scath,  injury. 


11* 


250  THE    AMORETTI. 


XXXII. 

The  payr.efull  smith,  with  force  of  fervent  heat, 
The  hardest  yron  soone  doth  mollify  ; 
That  with  his  heavy  sledge  he  can  it  beat, 
And  fashion  to  what  he  it  list  apply. 
Yet  cannot  all  these  flames,  in  which  I  fry, 
Her  hart  more  hard  then  yron  soft  a  whit ; 
Ne  all  the  playnts  and  prayers,  with  which  I 
Doe  beat  on  th'  andvile  of  her  stubberne  wit; 
But  still,  the  more  she  fervent  sees  my  fit, 
The  more  she  frieseth  in  her  wilfull  pryde; 
And  harder  growes,  the  harder  she  is  smit 
With  all  the  playnts  which  to  her  be  applyde. 
What  then  remaines  but  I  to  ashes  burne, 
And  she  to  stones  at  length  all  frosen  turne  ! 


THE   AMORETTI.  251 


XXXIII. 

Great  wrong  I  doe,  I  can  it  not  deny, 
To  that  most  sacred  Empresse,  my  dear  dred, 
Not  finishing  her  Queene  of  Faery, 
That  mote  enlarge  her  living  prayses,  dead : 
But  Lodwick,  this  of  grace  to  me  aread ; l 
Do  ye  not  thinck  th'  accomplishment  of  it, 
Sufficient  worke  for  one  mans  simple  head, 
All  were  it.  as  the  rest,  but  rudely  writ? 
How  then  should  I,   without  another  wit, 
Thinck  ever  to  endure  so  tedious  toyle! 
Sith2  that  this  one  is  tost  with  troublous  fit 
Of  a  proud  Love,  that  doth  my  spirite  spoyle. 

Cease  then,  till  she  vouchsafe  to  grawnt  me  rest; 

Or  lend  you  me  another  living  brest. 

1  Aread,  explain.  a  Sith,  since. 

XXXIH.    5.— Lodwick.}     Lodowick  Bryskett,  a  Mend  of  Spenser  and 
himself  a  poet. 


£52  THE   AMOKETTI. 


XXXIV. 

Lyke  as  a  ship,  that  through  the  ocean  wyde, 
By   conduct  of  some  star,   doth  make  her  way; 
Whenas  a  storm  hath  dimd  her  trusty  guyde, 
Out  of  her  course  doth  wander  far  astray! 
So  I,  whose  star,  that  wont  with  her  bright  ray 
Me  to  direct,  with  cloudes  is  over-cast, 
Doe  wander  now,  in  darknesse  and  dismay, 
Through  hidden  perils  round  about  me  plast ; 
Yet  hope  I  well  that,   when  this  storme  is  past, 
My  Helice,  the  lodestar  of  my  lyfe, 
"Will  shine  again,  and  looke  on  me  at  last, 
With  lovely  light  to  cleare  my  cloudy  grief. 
Till  then  I  wander  carefull,  comfortlesse, 
In  secret  sorrow,  and  sad  pensivenesse. 


THE   AMORETTI.  253 


XXXV. 

My  hungry  eyes,  through  greedy  covetize 
Still  to  behold  the  obiect  of  their  paine, 
"With  no  contentment  can  themselves  suffize; 
But,  having,  pine;    and,  having  not,  complaine. 
For,  lacking  it,  they  cannot  lyfe  sustayne ; 
And,  having  it,  they  gaze  on  it  the  more; 
In  their  amazement  lyke  Narcissus  vaine, 
Whose  eyes  him  starv'd:    so  plenty  makes  me  poore. 
Yet  are  mine  eyes  so  filled  with  the  store 
Of  that  faire  sight,  that  nothing  else  they  brooke, 
But  lothe  the  things  which  they  did  like  before, 
And  can  no  more  endure  on  them  to  looke. 
All  this  worlds  glory  seemeth  vayne  to  me, 
And  all  their  showes  but  shadowes,  saving  she. 


254  THE   AMOEETTI. 


XXXVI. 

Tell  me,  when  shall  these  wearie  woes  have  end, 
Or  shall  their  ruthlesse  torment  never  cease ; 
But  al  my  days  in  pining  languor  spend, 
"Without  hope  of  asswagement  or  release? 
Is  there  no  meanes  for  me  to  purchase  peace, 
Or  make  agreement  with  her  thrilling  eyes; 
But  that  their  cruelty  doth  still  increace, 
And  dayly  more  augment  my  miseryes? 
But,  when  ye  have  shew'd  all  extremityes, 
Then  think  how  little  glory  ye  have  gayned 
By  slaying  him,  whose  lyfe,  though  ye  despyse, 
Mote  have  your  life  in  honor  long  maintayned. 
But  by  his  death,  which  some  perhaps  will  mone, 
Ye  shall  condemned  be  of  many  a  one* 


THE    AMORETTI.  255 


XXXVII. 

What  guyle  is  this,  that  those  her  golden  tresses 
She  doth  attyre  under  a  net  of  gold; 
And  with  sly  skill  so  cunningly  them  dresses, 
That  which  is  gold,  or  haire,  may  scarse  be  told? 
Is  it  that  mens  fraile  eyes,  which  gaze  too  bold, 
She  may  entangle  in  that  golden  snare; 
And,  being  caught,  may  craftily  enfold 
Their  weaker  harts,  which  are  not  wel  aware  ? 
Take  heed  therefore,  myne  eyes,  how  ye  doe  stare 
Henceforth  too  rashly  on  that  guilefull  net, 
In  which  if  ever  ye  entrapped  are, 
Out  of  her  bands  ye  by  no  meanes  shall  get. 
Fondnesse1  it  were  for  any,  being  free, 
To  coyet  fetters  though  they  golden  bee, 

1  Fondnesse,  folly. 


256  THE    AMORETTI. 


xxxvm. 

Arion,  when,  through  tempests  cruel  wracke, 
He  forth  was  thrown  into  the  greedy  seas; 
Through  the  sweet  musick,  which  his  harp  did  make, 
AUur'd  a  dolphin  him  from  death  to  ease. 
But  my  rude  musick,  which  was  wont  to  please 
Some  dainty  eares,  cannot,  with  any  skill, 
The  dreadfull  tempest  of  her  wrath  appease, 
Nor  move  the  dolphin,  from  her  stubborn  will; 
But  in  her  pride  she  dooth  persever  still, 
All  carelesse  how  my  life  for  her  decayes : 
Yet  with  one  word  she  can  it  save  or  spill. 
To  spill  were  pitty,  but  to  save  were  prayse ! 
Chuse  rather  to  be  praysd  for  doing  good, 
Then  to  be  blam'd  for  spilling  guiltlesse  blood. 


THE   AMORETTI.  257 


XXXIX. 

Sweet  smile !    the  daughter  of  the  Queene  of  Love, 
Expressing  all  thy  mothers  powrefull  art, 
With  which  she  wonts  to  temper  angry  love, 
When  all  the  gods  he  threats  with  thundring  dart: 
Sweet  is  thy  vertue,  as  thy  selfe  sweet  art. 
For,  when  on  me  thou  shinedst  late   in  sadnesse, 
A  melting  pleasance  ran  through  every  part, 
And  me  revived  with  hart-rohbing  gladnesse. 
Whylest  rapt  with  ioy  resembling  heavenly  madness, 
My  soule  was  ravisht  quite  as  in  a  traunce ; 
And,  feeling  thence  no  more  her  sorrowes  sadnesse, 
Fed  on  the  fulnesse  of  that  chearfull  glaunce. 
More  sweet  than  nectar,  or  ambrosiall  meat, 
SeemM  every  bit  which  thenceforth  I  did  eat. 


258  THE   AMOBETTI. 


XL. 


Mark  when  she  smiles  with  amiable  cheare, 
And  tell  me  whereto  can  ye  lyken  it ; 
"When  on  each  eyelid  sweetly  doe  appeare 
An  hundred  Graces  as  in  shade  to  sit. 
Lykest  it  seemeth,  in  my  simple  wit, 
Unto  the  fayre  sunshine  in  somers  day ; 
That,  when  a  dreadfull  storme  away  is  flit, 
Thrugh  the  broad  world  doth  spred  his,  goodly  ray; 
At  sight  whereof,  each  bird  that  sits  on  spray, 
And  every  beast  that  to  his  den  was  fled, 
Comes  forth  afresh  out  of  their  late  dismay, 
And  to  the  light  lift  up  their  drouping  hed. 
So  my  storme-beaten  hart  likewise  is  cheared 
With  that  sunshine,  when  cloudy  looks  are  cleared. 


THE  AMOEETTI.  259 


XLI. 

Is  it  her  nature,  or  is  it  her  will, 
To  be  so  cruell  to  an  humbled  foe? 
If  nature ;   then  she  may  it  mend  with  skill : 
If  will ;   then  she  at  will  may  will  forgoe. 
But  if  her  nature  and  her  will  be  so, 
That  she  will  plague  the  man  that  loves  her  most, 
And  take  delight  t'  encrease  a  wretches  Woe; 
Then  all  her  natures  goodly  guifts  are  lost: 
And  that  same  glorious  beauties  ydle  boast 
Is  but  a  bayt  such  wretches  to  beguile, 
As,  being  long  in  her  loves  tempest  tost, 
She  meanes  at  last  to  make  her  pitious  spoyle. 
O  fayrest  fayre!   let  never  it  be  named, 
That  so  fayre  beauty  was  so  fowly  shamed. 


260  THE    AMORETTI. 


XLII. 

The  love,   which  me  so  cruelly  tormenteth, 
So  pleasing  is  in  my  extreamest  paine, 
That,  all  the  more  my  sorrow  it  augmenteth, 
The  more  I  love  and  doe  embrace  my  bane. 
Ne  do  I  wish  (for  wishing  were  but  vaine) 
To  be  acquit  fro  my  continual  smart ; 
But  ioy,  her  thrall  for  ever  to  remayne, 
And  yield  for  pledge  my  poor  and  capty  ved  hart ; 
The  which,  that  it  from  her  may  never  start, 
Let  her,  yf  please  her,  bynd  with  adamant   chayne, 
And  from  all  wandring  loves,  which  mote  pervart 
His  safe  assurance,  strongly  it  restrayne* 
Onely  let  her  abstaine  from  cruelty, 
And  doe  me  not  before  my  time  to  dy. 


THE   AMORETTT.  261 


XLIII. 

Shall  I  then  silent  be,  or  shall  I  speake?      ^1 
And,  if  I  speake,  her  wrath  renew  I  shall; 
And,  if  I  silent  be,  my  hart  will  breake, 
Or  choked  be  with  overflowing  gall. 
What  tyranny  is  this,  both  my  hart  to  thrall,  SQ 
And  eke  my  toung  with  proud  restraint  to  tie ;    * 
That  neither  I  may  speake  nor  thinke  at  all,   13 
But  like  a  stupid  stock  in  silence  die  I  <$_ 
Yet  I  my  hart  with  silence  secretly    <sL 
Will  teach  to  speak,  and  my  just  cause  to  plead; 
And  eke  mine  eies,  with  meek  humility,    • 
Love-learned  letters  to  her  eyes  to  read ; 

Which  her  deep  wit,  that  true  harts  thought  can  spel, 
Wil  soon  conceive,  and  learne  to  construe  well,    <f~ 

Vide  REMARKS,  p.  112. 


262  THE   AMOKETTI. 


XLIV. 

When  those  renoumed  noble  Peres  of  Greece, 
Through  stubborn  pride,  among  themselves  did  iar, 
Forgetfull  of  the  famous  golden  fleece; 
Then  Orpheus  with  his  harp  theyr  strife  did  bar. 
But  this  continuall,  cruell,  civill  warre, 
The  which  my  selfe  against  my  selfe  doe  make ; 
Whilest  my  weak  powres  of  passions  warreid  arre; 
No  skill  can  stint,  nor  reason  can  aslake. 
But,  when  in  hand  my  tunelesse  harp  I  take, 
Then  doe  I  more  augment  my  foes  despight; 
And  griefe  renew,  and  passions  doe  awake 
To  battaile,  fresh  against  my  selfe  to  fight. 
Mongst  whome  the  more  I  seeke  to  settle  peace, 
The  more  I  fynd  their  malice  to  increace. 


THE   AMOBETTI.  263 


XLV. 

Leave,  Lady!    in  your  glasse  of  cristall  clene, 
Your  goodly  selfe  for  evermore  to  vew  : 
And  in  my  selfe,  my  inward  selfe,  I  meane, 
Most  lively  lyke  behold  your  semblant  trew. 
Within  my  hart,  though  hardly  it  can  shew 
Thing  so  divine  to  vew  of  earthly  eye, 
The  fayre  idea  of  your  celestiall  hew 
And  every  part  remaines  immortally: 
And  were  it  not  that,  through  your  cruelty, 
"With  sorrow  dimmed  and  deform'd  it  were, 
The  goodly  ymage  of  your  visnomy  *, 
Clearer  than  cristall,  would  therein  appere. 

But,  if  your  selfe  in  me  ye  playne  will  see,  [be. 

Remove  the  cause  by  which  your  fayre  beames  darkned 

Vide  REMARKS,  p.  127. 
1  Visnomy ,  countenance. 


264  THE   AMOEETTI. 


XL  VI. 

When  my  abodes  prefixed  time  is  spent, 
My  cruell  fayre  streight  bids  me  wend  my  Way: 
But  then  from  heaven  most  hideous  stormes  are  sent, 
As  willing  me  against  her  will  to  stfay, 
Whom  then  shall  I,  or  heaven  or  her,  obay  ?  , 
The  heavens  know  best  what  is  the  best  for  me: 
But  as  she  will,  whose  will  my  life  doth  sway. 
My  lower  heaven,  so  it  perforce  must  be. 
But  ye  high  hevens,  that  all  this  sorowe  see, 
Sith1  all  your  tempests  cannot  hold  me  backe, 
Aswage  your  storms;    or  else  both  you,  and  she, 
Will  both  together  me  too  sorely  wrack. 
Enough  it  is  for  one  man  to  sustaine 
The  stormes,  which  she  alone  on  me  doth  raine. 

Vide  REMARKS,  p,  134. 
»  &ith,  since. 


THE    AMOBETTI.  265 


XLYII. 

Trust  not  the  treason  of  those  smyling  lookes, 
TJntill  ye  have  their  guylefull  traynes  well  tryde : 
For  they  are  lyke  but  unto  golden  hookes, 
That  from  the  foolish  fish  theyr  bayts  do  hyde  : 
So  she  with  flattring  smyles  weake  harts  doth  guyde 
Unto  her  love,  and  tempte   to  theyr  decay; 
"Whome,  being  caught,  she  kills  with  cruell  pryde, 
And  feeds  at  pleasure  on  the  wretched  pray : 
Yet,  even  whylst  her  bloody  hands  them  slay, 
Her  eyes  looke  lovely,  and  upon  them  smyle ; 
That  they  take  pleasure  in  their  cruell  play, 
And,  dying,  doe  themselves  of  payne  beguyle. 

O  mighty  charm!   which  makes  men  love  theyr  bane, 
And  thinck  they  dy  with  pleasure,  live  with  payne. 

Vide,  REMARKS,  p.  123. 


12 


266  THE  AMOEETTI, 


XL  VIII. 

Innocent  paper !    whom  too  cruell  hand 
Did  make  the  matter  to  avenge  her  yre ; 
And,  ere  she  could  thy  cause  well  understand, 
Did  sacrifize  unto  the  greedy  fyre. 
Well  worthy  thou  to  have  found  better  hyre, 
Then  so  bad  end  for  here  ticks  ordayned; 
Yet  heresy  nor  treason  didst  conspire, 
But  plead  thy  Maisters  cause,  unjustly  payned. 
Whom  she,  all  carelesse  of  his  grief,  constrayned 
To  utter  forth  the   anguish  of  his  hart : 
And  would  not  heare,   when  he  to  her  complayned 
The  piteous  passion  of  his  dying  smart. 
Yet  live  for  ever,  though  against  her  will, 
And  speake  her  good,  though  she  requite  it  ill. 


THE   AMOKETTI.  267 


XLIX. 

Fayre  Cruell !    why  are  ye  so  fierce  and  cruell  ? 
Is  it  because  your  eyes  have  powre  to  kill? 
Then  know  that  mercy  is  the  Mighties  iewell ; 
And  greater  glory  think  to  save  then  spill. 
But  if  it  he  your  pleasure,  and  proud  will, 
To  shew  the  powre  of  your  imperious  eyes; 
Then  not   on  him  that  never  thought  you  ill, 
But  bend  your  force  against  your  enemy es : 
Let  them  feel  the  utmost  of  your  crueltyes; 
And  kill  with  looks,  as  cockatrices  do: 
But  him,  that  at  your  footstoole  humbled  lies, 
With  mercifull  regard  give  mercy  to. 

Such  mercy  shall  you  make  admyrM  to  be; 

So  shall  you  live,  by  giving  life  to  me. 


263  THE   AMOKETTI. 


Long  languishing  in  double  malady 

Of  my  harts  wound,  and  of  my  bodies  griefe; 

There  came  to  me  a  Leach,  that  would  apply 

Fit  medcines  for  my  bodies  best  reliefe. 

Vayne  man,  quoth  I,  that  hast  but  little  priefe  l  * 

In  deep  discovery  of    he  mynds  disease; 

Is  not  the  hart  of  all  the  body  chiefe, 

And  rules  the  members  as  itselfe  doth  please? 

Then,  with  some  cordial  Is,  seeke  for  to  appease 

The  inward  languor  of  my  wounded  hart; 

And  then  my  body  shall  have  shortly  ease : 

But  such  sweet  cordialls  passe  Physicians  art. 

Then,  my  lyfes  Leach !    doe  you  your  skill  reveale ; 

And,  with  one  salve,  both  hart  and  body  heale. 

1  Priefty  proof,  skill. 


THE   AMORETTI.  269 


LI. 


Doe  I  not  see  that  fayrest  ymages 

Of  hardest  marble  are  of  purpose  made, 

For  that  they  should  endure  through  many  ages, 

Ne  let  theyr  famous  moniments  to  fade? 

"Why  then  do  I,  untrainde  in  Lovers  trade, 

Her  hardnes  blame,  which  I  should  more  commend? 

Sith1  never  ought  was  excellent  assayde* 

Which  was  not  hard  t'  atchive  and  bring  to  end. 

Ne  ought  so  hard,  but  he,  that  would  attend, 

Mote  soften  it  and  to  his  will  allure : 

So  do  I  hope  her  stubborne  hart  to  bend, 

And  that  it  then  more  stedfast  will  endure. 

Only  my  paines  wil  be  the  more  to  get  her; 

But,  having  her,  my  ioy  wil  be  the  greater. 

1  Sith,  since. 


270  THE   AMOKETTI. 


LII. 

So  oft  as  homeward  I  from  her  depart, 
I  go  lyke  one  that,  having  lost  the  field, 
Is  prisoner  led  away  with  heavy  hart, 
Despoyld  of  warlike  armes  and  knowen  shield. 
So  doe  I  now  my  self  a  prisoner  yield 
To  sorrow  and  to   solitary  paine;   . 
From  presence  of  my  dearest  deare  exylde, 
Long-while  alone  in  languor  to  remaine. 
There  let  no  thought  of  ioy,  or  pleasure  vaine, 
Dare  to  approch,  that  may  my  solace  breed; 
But  sudden  dumps,1  and  drery  sad  disdayne . 
Of  all  worlds  gladnesse,  more  my  torment  feed. 
So  I  her  ahsens  will  my  penaunce  make, 
That  of  .her  presens  I  my  meed  may  take. 

1  Dumps,  lamentations. 


THE   AMORETTI.  271 


LIIL 

The  panther,  knowing  that  his  spotted  hyde 
Doth  please  all  beasts,  but  that  his  looks  them  fray; 
Within  a  bush  his  dreadful  head  doth  hide, 
To  let  them  gaze,  whylst  he  on  them  may  pray: 
Right  so  my  cruell  fayre  with  me  doth  play ; 
For,   with  the  goodly  semblance  of  her  hew, 
She  doth  allure  me  to  mine  owne  decay, 
And  then  no  mercy  will  unto  me  shew. 
Great  shame  it  is,  thing  so  divine  in  view, 
Made  for  to  be  the  worlds  most  ornament, 
To  make  the  bayte  her  gazers  to  embrew : 
Good  shames  to  be  to  ill  an  instrument! 
But  mercy  doth  with  beautie  best  agree, 
As  in  theyr  Maker  ye  them  best  may  see, 

Vide  REMARKS,  p.  122. 
1  Fray,  terrify. 


272  THE    AMORETTI, 


LIY. 

Of  this  worlds  Theatre  in  which  we  stay, 
My  Love,  like  the  Spectator,  ydly  sits ; 
Beholding  me,  that  all  the  Pageants  play, 
Disguysing  diversly  my  troubled  wits. 
Sometimes  I  ioy  when  glad  occasion  fits, 
And  mask  in  myrth  lyke  to  a  Comedy: 
Soone  after,   when  my  ioy  to  sorrow  flits, 
I  waile,  and  make  my  woes  a  Tragedy. 
Yet  she,  beholding  me  with  constant  eye, 
Delights  not  in  my  merth,  nor  rues  my  smart: 
But,  when  I  laugh,  she  mocks;    and,  when  I  cry, 
She  laughs,  and  hardens  evermore  her  hart. 

What  then  can  move  her?   if  nor  merth,   nor  mone, 
She  is  no  woman,  but  a  sencelesse  stone. 


THE   AMOEETTI.  273 


LV. 


So  oft  as  I  her  beauty  doe  behold, 

And  therewith  doe  her  cruelty  compare, 

I  marvaile  of  what  substance  was  the  mould, 

The  which  her  made  attonce  so  cruell  faire. 

Not  earth ;   for  her  high  thoughts  more  heavenly  are : 

Not  water ;    for  her  love  doth  burne  like  fyre : 

Not  ayre ;    for  she  is  not  so  light  or  rare : 

Not  fyre ;    for  she  doth  friese  with  faint  desire. 

Then  needs  another  Element  inquire 

Whereof  she  mote  be  made ;    that  is,  the  skye. 

For,  to  the  heaven  her  haughty  looks  aspire; 

And  eke  her  love  is  pure  immortall  hye. 

Then,  sith  to  heaven  ye  lykened  are  the  best, 

Be  lyke  in  mercy  as  in  all  the  rest*  , 

^v 

Vide>  REMARKS,  p.  121. 


12* 


274  THE    AMORETTI. 


LVI. 

V 

Fayre^  ye  be  sure,  but  cruell  and  unkind, 
As  is'  a  tygre,  that  with  greedinesse * 
Hunts 'after  bloud;    when  he  by  chance  doth  find 
A  feeble  beast,  doth  felly  him  oppressed 
Fayre  be  ye  sure,  but  proud  and  pitilesse, 
As  is  a  storme,  that  all  things  doth  prostrate; 
Finding  a  tree  alone  all  comfortlesse, 
Beats  on  it  strongly,  it  to  ruinate.* 
Fayre  be  ye  sure,  but  hard  and  obstinate, 
As  is  a  rocke  amidst  the  raging  floods ;. 
Gaynst  which,  a  ship,  of  succour  desolate, 
Doth  suffer  wreck  both  of  her  selfe  and  goods. 
That  ship,  that  tree,  and  that  same  beast,  am  I, 
Whom  ye  doe  wreck,  doe  ruine,  and  destroy. 


THTC   AMOBBTTI.  275 


LVJL 

Sweet  warriour!    when  shall  I  have  peace  with  you? 
High  time  it  is  this  warre  now  ended  were; 
Which  I  no  lenger  can  endure  to  sue, 
Ne  your  incessant  battry  more  to  beare: 
So  weake  my  powres,  so  sore  my  wounds,  appear, 
That  wonder  is  how  I  should  live  a  iot, 
Seeing  my  hart  through- launced  every  where 
With  thousand  arrowes,  which  your  eies  have  shot: 
Yet  shoot  ye  sharpely  still,  and  spare  me  not, 
But  glory  thinke  to  make  these   cruel  stoures.1 
Ye  cruell  one!    what  glory  can  be  got, 
In  slaying  him  that  would  live  gladly  yours! 
Make  peace  therefore,  and  graunt  me  timely  grace, 
That  al  my  wounds  will  heale  in  little  space. 

Stourest  assaults. 


276  THE    AMORETTI. 


LVIII. 

By  her  thai  is  most  assured  to  her  selfe. 
Weake  is  th'  assurance  that  weake  flesh  reposeth 
In  her  own  powre,  and  scorneth  others  ayde; 
That  soonest  fals,  when  as  she  most  supposeth 
Her  selfe  assur'd,  and  is  of  nought  affrayd. 
All  flesh  is  frayle,  and  all  her  strength  unstayd, 
Like  a  vaine  bubble  bio  wen  up  with  ay  re : 
Devouring  tyme  and  changeful  chance  have  prayd, 
Her  glorious  pride  that  none  may  it  repayre. 
Ne  none  so  rich  or  wise,  so  strong  or  fayre, 
But  fayleth,  trusting  on  his  owne  assurance  : 
And  he,  that  standeth  on  the  hyghest  stayre, 
Fals  lowest:    for  on  earth  nought  hath  endurance. 
"Why  then  doe  ye,  proud  fayre,  misdeeme  so  farre, 
That  to  your  selfe  ye  most  assured  arre! 


THE    AMOBETTI.  277 


LIX. 

Thrise  happie  she  !    that  is  so  well  assured 
Unto  her  selfe,  and  setled  so  in  hart, 
That  neither  will  for  better  be  allured, 
~Ne  feard  with  worse  to  any  chaunce  to  start; 
But,  like  a  steddy  ship,  doth  strongly  part 
The  raging  waves,  and  keepes  her  course  aright; 
NQ  ought  for  tempest  doth  from  it  depart, 
Ne  ought  for  fayrer  weathers  false  delight. 
Such  selfe-assurance  need  not  feare  the  spight 
Of  grudging  foes,  ne  favour  seek  of  friends: 
But,  in  the  stay  of  her  owne  stedfast  might, 
Neither  to  one  her  selfe  nor  other  bends. 

Most  happy  she,  that  most  assur'd  doth  rest; 

But  he  most  happy,  who  such  one  loves  best. 


278  THE   AMOBETTI. 


LX. 


They,  that  in  course  of  heavenly  spheares  are  skild, 
To  every  planet  point  his  sundry  yeare: 
In  which  her  circles  voyage  is  fulfild, 
As  Mars  in  threescore  yeares  doth  run  his  spheare. 
So,  since  the  winged  god  his  planet  cleare 
Began  in  me  to  move,  one  yeare  is  spent : 
The  which  doth  longer  unto  me  appeare, 
Then  al  those  fourty  which  my  life  out-went. 
Then  by  that  count,  which  lovers  hooks  invent, 
The  spheare  of  Cupid  fourty  yeares  containes: 
Which  I  have  wasted  in  long  languishment, 
That  seem'd  the  longer  for  my  greater  paines. 
But  let  my  Loves  fayre  planet  short  her  wayes, 
This  yeare  ensuing,  or  else  short  ray  dayes. 

I 

i 


THE   AMORETTI.  279 


LXI. 

The  glorious  image  of  the  Makers  beautie, 
My  soverayne  saynt,  the  idoll  of  my  thought, 
Dare  not  henceforth,  above  the  bounds  of  dewtie, 
T'  accuse  of  pride,  or  rashly  blame  for  ought. 
For  being,  as  she  is,  divinely  wrought, 
And  of  the  brood  of  Angels  heavenly  born ; 
And  with  the  crew  of  blessed  saynts  upbrought, 
Each  of  which  did  her  with  theyr  guifts  adorne ; 
The  bud  of  ioy,  the  blossome  of  the  morne, 
The  beame  of  light,  whom  mortal  eyes  admyre ; 
What  reason  is  it  then  but  she  should  scorne 
Base  things,  that  to  her  love  too  bold  aspire! 
Such  heavenly  formes  ought  rather  worshipt  be, 
Then  dare  be  lov'd  by  men  of  meane  degree. 

Vide  REMARKS,  p.  125.        , 


280  THE    AMOEETTI. 


LXH. 

The  weary  yeare  his  race  now  having  run, 

The  new  begins  his  compast  course  anew  : 

With  shew  of  morning  mylde  he  hath  begun, 

Betokening  peace  and  plenty  to  ensew. 

So  let  us,  which  this  chaunge  of  weather  vew, 

Chaunge  eke  our  mynds,  and  former  lives  amend; 

The  old  yeares  sinnes  forepast  let  us  eschew, 

And  fly  the  faults  with  which  we  did  offend. 

Then  shall  the  new  yeares  ioy  forth  freshly  send, 

Into  the  glooming  world,  his  gladsome  ray: 

And  all  these  stormes,  which  now  his  beauty  blend,1 

Shall  turne  to  calmes,  and  tymely  cleare  away. 

So,  likewise,  Love!    cheare  you  your  heavy  spright, 
And  chaunge  old  yeares  annoy  to  new  delight. 

»  plend,  blemish. 


THE    AMOBETTI.  281 


LXIH. 

After  long  stormes  and  tempests  sad  assay, 

Which  hardly  I  endured  heretofore, 

In  dread  of  death,  and  daungerous  dismay, 

"With  which  my  silly  bark  was  tossed  sore; 

I  doe  at  length  descry  the  happy  shore, 

In  which  I  hope  ere  long  for  to  arryve: 

Fayre  soyle  it  seemes  from  far,  and  fraught  with  store 

Of  all  that  deare  and  daynty  is  alyve. 

Most  happy  he!    that  can  at  last  atchyve 

The  ioyous  safety  of  so  sweet  a  rest ; 

Whose  least  delight  sufficeth  to  deprive 

Remembrance  of  all  paines  which  him  opprest. 

All  paines  are  nothing  in  respect  of  this ; 

All  sorrowes  short  that  gaine  eternall  blisse. 

Vide  REMARKS,  p.  120. 


282  THE   AMORETTI. 


LXIV. 

Oomming  to  kisse  her  lyps,  (such  grace  I  found,) 
Me  seemd,  I  smelt  a  gardin  of  sweet  flowres, 
That  dainty  odours  from  them  threw  around, 
For  damzels  fit  to  decke  their  lovers  bowres. 
Her  lips  did  smell  lyke  unto  gillyflowers; 
Her  ruddy  cheekes,  like  unto  roses  red ; 
Her  snowy  browes,  lyke  budded  bellamoures; 
Her  lovely  eyes,  lyke  pincks  but  newly  spred  ; 
Her  goodly  bosome,  lyke  a  strawberry  bed; 
Her  neck,  lyke  to  a  bounch  of  cuilambynes ; 
Her  brest,  lyke  lillyes,  ere  their  leaves  be  shed; 
Her  nipples,  lyke  young  blossomd  jessemynes : 

Such  fragrant  flowres  doe  give  most  odorous  smell ; 

But  her  sweet  odour  did  them  all  excell. 

Vide  BEMAEKS,  p.  120. 


THE   AMOBETTI.  283 


LXV. 

The  doubt  which  ye  misdeeme,  fayre  Love,  is  vaine, 
That  fondly  feare  to  lose  your  liberty ; 
"When,  losing  one,  two  liberties  ye  gayne, 
And  make  him  bond  that  bondage  earst1  did  fly. 
Sweet  be  the  bands,  the  which  true  love  doth  tye 
Without  constraynt,  or  dread  of  any  ill: 
The  gentle  birde  feeles  no  captivity 
Within  her  cage;    but  sings,  and  feeds  her  fill. 
There  pride  dare  not  approch,  nor  discord  spill 
The  league  twixt  them,  that  loyal  love  hath  bound: 
But  simple  Truth,  and  mutual  Good- will, 
Seeks,  with  sweet  peace,  to  salve  each  others  wound: 
There  Fayth  doth  fearless  dwell  in  brazen  towre, 
And  spotlesse  Pleasure  builds  her  sacred  bowre. 

i  Earst,  before. 


284  THE    AMORETTI. 


LXVI. 

To  all  those  happy  blessings,   which  ye  have 
With  plenteous  hand  by  heaven  upon  you  thrown; 
This  one  disparagement  they  to  you  gave, 
That  ye  your  love  lent  to  so  meane  a  one. 
Ye,  whose  high  worths  surpassing  paragon 
Could  not  on  earth  have  found  one  fit  for  mate, 
Ne  but  in  heaven  matchable  to  none, 
Why  did  ye  stoup  unto  so  lowly  state? 
But  ye  thereby  much  greater  glory  gate, 
Then  had  ye  sorted  with  a  Princes  pere : 
For,  now  your  light  doth  more  it  selfe  dilate, 
And,  in  my  darknesse,  greater  doth  appeare. 
Yet,  since  your  light  hath  once  enlumind  me, 
With  my  reflex  yours  shall  encreased  be. 


THE    AMOKETTI.  285 


LXVIL 

Lyke  as  a  huntsman  after  weary  chace, 
Seeing  the  game  from  him  escapt  away, 
Sits  downe  to  rest  him  in  some  shady  place. 
With  panting  hounds  beguiled  of  their  pray: 
So,  after  long  pursuit  and  vaine  assay, 
When  I  all  weary  had  the  chace  forsooke. 
The  gentle  deer  returnd  the  selfe-same   way, 
Thinking  to  quench  her  thirst  at  the  next  brooke: 
There  she,  beholding  me  with  mylder  looke, 
Sought  not  to  fly,  but  fearlesse  still  did  bide; 
Till  I  in  hand  her  yet  halfe  trembling  tooke, 
And  with  her  owne  goodwill  her  fyrmely  tyde. 
Strange  thing,  me  seemd,  to  see  a  beast  so  wyld, 
So  goodly  wonne,  with  her  owne  will  beguyld. 


286  THE    AMORETTI. 


LXYIII. 

Most  glorious  Lord  of  lyfe  !    that,  on  this  day, 
Didst  make  thy  triumph  over  death  and  sin ; 
And,  having  harrowd1  hell,  didst  bring  away 
Captivity  thence  captive,  us  to  win : 
This  ioyous  day,  dear  Lord,  with  ioy  begin ; 
And  grant  that  we,  for  whom  thou  diddest  dy, 
Being  with  thy  deare  blood  clene  washt  from  sin, 
May  live  for  ever  in  felicity!' 
And  that  thy  love  we  weighing  worthily, 
Ma'y  likewise  love  thee  for  the  same  againe ; 
And  for  thy  sake,  that  all  lyke  deare  didst  buy, 
"With  love  may  one  another  entertayne! 

So  let  us  love,  deare  Love,  lyke  as  we  ought: 
Love  is  the  lesson  which  the  Lord  us  taught. 

1  Hdrrowd,  subdued. 


THE    AMORETTI.  287 


LXIX. 

The  famous  warriours  of  the  anticke  world 
Us'd  trophees  to  erect  in  stately  wize; 
In  which  they  would  the  records  have  enrold 
Of  theyr  great  deeds  and  valorous  emprize. 
"What  trophee.  then  shall  I  most  fit  devize, 
In  which  I  may  record  the  memory 
Of  my  loves  conquest,  peerlesse  beauties  prise, 
Adorn'd  with  honour,  love,  and  chastity! 
Even  this  verse,  vowd  to  eternity, 
Shall  be  thereof  immortall  moniment ; 
And  tell  her  praise  to  all  posterity, 
That  may  admire  such  worlds  rare  wonderment; 
The  happy  purchase  of  my  glorious  spoile, 
Gotten  at  last  with  labour  and  long  toyle. 


288  THE   AMORETTI. 


LXX. 

Fresh  Spring,  the  herald  of  loves  mighty  king, 

In  whose  cote-armour  richly  are  displayd 

All  sorts  of  flowres,  the  which  on  earth  do  spring, 

In  goodly  colours  gloriously  arrayd; 

Goe  to  my  Love,  where  she  is  carelesse  layd, 

Yet  in  her  winters  bowre  not  well  awake ; 

Tell  her  the  ioyous  time  wil  not  be  staid, 

Unlesse  she  doe  him  .by  the  forelock  take ; 

Bid  her  therefore  her  selfe  soone  ready  make, 

To  wayt  on  Love  amongst  his  lovely  crew, 

"Where  every  one,  that  misseth  then  her  make, 

Shall  be  by  him  amearst1  with  penance  dew. 

Make  hast  therefore,  sweet  Love,  while  it  is  prime ; 

For  none  can  call  againe  the  passed  time. 

1  Amearst,  amerced,  punished. 


THE    AMORETTI.  289 


LXXI. 

I  ioy  to  see  how,  in  your  drawen  work, 
Your  selfe  unto  the  Bee  ye  doe  compare; 
And  me  unto  the  Spyder,  that  doth  lurke 
In  close  awayt,  to  catch  her  unaware : 
Eight  so  your  selfe  were  caught  in  cunning  snare 
Of  a  deare  foe,  and  thralled  to  his  love ; 
In  whose  streight l  bands  ye  now  captived  are 
So  firmely,  that  ye  never  may  remove. 
But  as  your  worke  is  woven  all  about 
With  Woodbynd  flowers  and  fragrant  Eglantine; 
So  sweet  your  prison  you  in  time  shall  prove, 
With  many  deare  delights  bedecked  fyne. 
And  all  thensforth  eternall  peace  shall  see 
Bet  ween  e  the  Spyder  and  the  gentle  Bee. 

1  Streight,  strict. 


13 


290  THE    AMOKETTI, 


LXXII. 

Oft,  when  my  spirit  doth  spred  her  bolder  winges. 
In  mind  to  mount  up  to  the  purest  sky ; 
It  down  is  weighd  with  thought  of  earthly  things, 
And  clogd  with  burden  of  iflpjtajj^y  ; 
Where,  when  that  soverayne  beauty  it  doth  spy, 
Eesembling  heavens  glory  in  her  light, 
Drawn  with  sweet  pleasures  bayt,  it  back  doth  fly, 
And  unto  heaven  forgets  her  former  flight. 
There  my  fraile  fancy,  fed  with  full  delight, 
Doth  bathe  in  blisse,  and  mantleth  most  at  ease ; 
Ne  thinks  of  other  heaven,  but  how  it  might 
Her  harts  desire  with  most  contentment  please. 
Hart  need  not  wish  none  other  happinesse, 
But  here  on  earth  to  have  such  hevens  blisse. 


THE    AMORETTI.  291 


LXXIII. 

Being  my  self  capty  ved  here  in  care, 
My  hart,  (whom  none  with  servile  bands  can  tye, 
But  the  fayre  tresses  of  your  golden  hayre,) 
Breaking  his  prison,  forth  to  you  doth  fly. 
Like  as  a  byrd,  that  in  ones  hand  doth  spy 
Desired  food,  to  it  doth  make  his  flight: 
Even  so  my  hart,  that  wont  on  your  fayre  eye 
To  feed  his  fill,  flyes  backe  unto  your  sight. 
Doe  you  him  take,  and  in  your  bosome  bright 
Gently  encage,  that  he  may  be  your  thrall: 
Perhaps  he  there  may  learne,  with  rare  delight, 
To  sing  your  name  and  prayses  over  all: 
That  it  hereafter  may  you  not  repent, 
Him  lodging  in  your  bosome  to  have  lent. 


292  THE   AMORETTI. 


LXXIV. 

Most  happy  letters!    fraru'd  by  skilfull  trade, 
With  which  that  happy  name  was  first  :desynd, 
The  which  three  times  thrise  happy  hath  me  made, 
With  guifts  of  body,  fortune,  and  of  mind. 
The  first  my  being  to  me  gave  by  kind, 
From  Mothers  womb  deriv'd  by  dew  descent: 
The  second  is  my  sovereigne  Queene  most  kind, 
That  honour  and  large  richesse  to  me  lent: 
The  third,  my  Love,  my  lives  last  ornament, 
By  whom  my  spirit  out  of  dust  was  raysed: 
To  speake  her  prayse  and  glory  excellent, 
Of  all  alive  most  worthy  to  be  praysed. 
Ye  three  Elizabeths!    for  ever  live, 
That  three  such  graces  did  unto  me  give. 


THE   AMOKETTI.  293 


LXXV. 

One  .day  I  wrote  her  name  upon  the  strand  ; 

But  came  the  waves,  and  washed  it  away  : 

Agayne,  I  wrote  it  with  a  second  hand  ; 

But  came  the  tyde,  and  made  my  paynes  his  pray. 

Vayne  man  she  sayd  that  doest  in  vaine  assay 

A  mortall  thing  so  to  immortalize  ; 

For  I  my  selve  shall  lyke  to  this  decay, 

And  eke  my  name  bee  wyped  out  lykewize. 

Not  so,  quod  I;  let  baser  things  devize 

To  dy  in  dust,  but  you  shall  live  by  fame  : 

My  verse  your  vertues  rare  shall  eternize, 

And  in  the  hevens  wryte  your  glorious  name. 

Where,  when  as  death  shall  all  the  world  subdew, 
Our  love  shall  live,  and  later  life  renew. 


294  THE   AMORETTI. 


LXXVI. 

Fayre  bosome !  fraught  with  vertues  richest  tresure, 
The  neast l  of  love,  the  lodging  of  delight, 
The  bowre  of  blisse,  the  paradice  of  pleasure, 
The  sacred  harbour  of  that  hevenly  spright  ; 
How  was  I  ravisht  with  your  lovely   sight, 
And  my  frayle  thoughts  too   rashly  led  astray  ! 
"Whiles  diving  deepe  through  amorous  insight, 
On  the  sweet  spoyle  of  beautie  they  did  pray; 
And  twixt  her  paps,  (like  early  fruit  in  May, 
Whose  harvest  seemd  to  hasten   now  apace,) 
They  loosely  did  theyr  wanton  winges  display, 
And  there  to  rest  themselves  did  boldly  place. 
Sweet  thoughts !  I  envy  your  so  happy  rest, 
Which  oft  I  wisht,  yet  never  was  so  blest. 

Vide  REMARKS,  p.  119. 
1  Neast,  nest. 


THE    AMORETTI.  295 


LXXVIL 

Was  it  a  dreame,  or  did  I  see  it  playne  ; 
A  goodly  table  of  pure  yvory, 
All  spred  with  juncats,1  fit  to  entertayne 
The  greatest  Prince  with  pompous  roialty  : 
Mongst  which,   there  in  a  silver  dish  did  ly 
Two  golden  apples  of  unvalewd 2  price  ; 
Far  passing  those  which  Hercules  came  by, 
Or  those  which  Atalanta  did  entice  ; 
Exceeding  sweet,  yet  voyd  of  sinfull  vice  ; 
That  many  sought,  yet  none  could  ever  taste  ; 
Sweet  fruit  of  pleasure,  brought  from  Paradice 
By  Love  himselfe,  and  in  his  garden  plaste. 

Her  brest  that  table  was,  so  richly  spredd  ; 

My  thoughts  the  guests,  which  would  thereon  have  fedd. 

Vide  REMARKS,  p.  48. 
*  Juncats,  junkets,  viands.  *  Unvalewd,  invaluable. 


296  THE    AMORETTT. 


LXXVIII. 

Lackyng  my  Love,   I  go  from  place  to  place, 

Lyke  a  young  fawne,  that  late  hath  lost  the  hynd; 

And  seeke  each  where,  where  last  I  sawe  her  face, 

Whose  ymage  yet  I  carry  fresh  in  mynd. 

I  seeke  the  fields  with* her  late  footing  synd  ; 

I  seeke  her  bowre  with  her  late  presence  deckt; 

Yet  nor  in  field  or  bowre  I  can  her  fynd  : 

Yet  field  and  bowre  are  full  of  her  aspect : 

But,  when  myne  eyes  I  therunto  direct, 

They  ydly  back  return  to  me  agayne  : 

And,  when  I  hope  to  see  theyr  trew  obi6ct, 

I  fynd  my  self  but  fed  with  fancies  vayne. 

Cease  then,  myne  eyes,  to  seeke  her  selfe  to  see ; 

And  let  my  thoughts  behold  her  selfe  in  mee. 

Vide  REMARKS,  p.  131. 


THE   AMOEETTI.  297 


LXXIX. 

Men  call  you  fayre,  and  you  doe  credit  it, 

For  that  your  selfe  ye  daily  such  doe  see : 

But  the  trew  fayre,  that  is  the  gentle  wit, 

And  vertuous  mind,  is  much  more  praysd  of  me  : 

For  all  the  rest,  how  ever  fayre  it  be, 

Shall  turne  to  nought  and  lose  that  glorious  hew  ; 

But  onely  that  is  permanent  and  free 

From  frayle  corruption,  that  doth  flesh  ensew.1 

That  is  true  beautie  :   that  doth  argue  you 

To  be  divine,  and  born  of  heavenly  seed  ; 

Deriv'd  from  that  fayre  Spirit,  from  whom  all  true 

And  perfect  beauty  did  at  first  proceed  : 

He  only  fayre,  and  what  he  fayre  hath  made  ; 

All  other  fayre,  lyke  flowres,  untymely  fade. 

1  Ensew,  follow. 


298  THE   AMOBETTI. 


LXXX. 

After  so  long  a  race  as  I  have  run 
Through  Faery  land,  which  those  six  books  compile, 
Give  leave  to  rest  me  being  half  foredonne, 
And  gather  to  my  selfe  new  breath  awhile. 
Then,  as  a  steed  refreshed  after  toyle, 
Out  of  my  prison  I  will  break  anew, 
And  stoutly  will  that  second  work  assoyle,1 
"With  strong  endevour  and  attention  dew. 
Till  then  give  leave  to  me,  in  pleasant  mew  a 
To  sport  my  Muse,  and  sing  my  Loves  sweet  praise  ; 
The  contemplation  of  whose  heavenly  hew, 
My  spirit  to  an  higher  pitch  will  rayse. 
But  let  her  prayses  yet  be  low  and  meane, 
Fit  for  the  handmayd  of  the  Faery  Queene. 

1  Assoyle,  absolve,  discharge.  a  Mew,  prison. 


THE   AMORETTI.  299 


LXXXI. 

Fayre  is  my  Love,  when  her  fayre  golden  haires 
With  the  loose  wynd  ye  waving  chance  to  marke  ; 
Fayre,  when  the  rose  in  her  red  cheekes  appeares ; 
Or  in  her  eyes  the  fyre  of  love  does  sparke. 
Fayre,  when  her  brest,  lyke  a  rich  laden  barke, 
"With  pretious  merchandize  she  forth  doth  lay  ; 
Fayre,  when  that  cloud  of  pryde,  which  oft  doth  dark 
Her  goodly  light,  with  smiles  she  drives  away. 
But  fayrest  she,  when  so  she  doth  display 
The  gate  with  pearles  and  rubyes  richly  dight ; 
Throgh  which  her  words  so  wise  do  make  their  way 
To  beare  the  message  of  her  gentle  spright. 

The  rest  be  works  of  Natures  wonderment ; 

But  this  the  worke  of  harts  astonishment. 

Vide  REMAEKS,  p.  125. 


300  THE  AMORETTI. 


LXXXIL 

loy  of  iny  life  !  full  oft  for  loving  you 
I  blesse  my  lot,  that  was  so  lucky  plac'd  : 
But  then  the  more  your  owne  mishap  I  rew, 
That  are  so  much  by  so  meane  love  embased. 
For,  had  the  equall  hevens  so  much  you  graced 
In  this  as  in  the  rest,  ye  mote  invent 
Some  hevenly  wit,  whose  verse  could  have  enchased 
Your  glorious  name  in  golden  moniment. 
But  since  ye  deignd  so  goodly  to  relent 
To  me  your  thrall,  in  whom  is  little  worth  ; 
That  little,  that  I  am,  shall  all  be  spent 
In  setting  your  immortal  prayses  forth  : 
Whose  lofty  argument,  uplifting  me, 
Shall  lift  you  up  unto  a  high  degree. 


THE   AMOEETTT.  301 


LXXXIII. 

Let  not  one  sparke  of  filthy  lustfull  fyre 

Breake  out,  that  may  her  sacred  peace  molest ; 

N"e  one  light  glance  of  sensuall  desyre 

Attempt  to  work  her  gentle  mindes  unrest : 

But  pure  affections  bred  in  spotlesse  brest, 

And  modest  thoughts  breathd  from  well-tempred  spirits, 

Goe  visit  her,  in  her  chaste  bowre  of  rest, 

Accompanyde  with  angelick  delightes. 

There  fill  your  selfe  with  those  most  ioyous  sights, 

The  which  my  selfe  could  never  yet  attayne  : 

But  speake  no  word  to  her  of  these  sad  plights, 

Which  her  too  constant  stiffnesse  doth  constrayn. 

Onely  behold  her  rare  perfection, 

And  blesse  your  fortunes  fayre  election. 

Vide  REMARKS,  p.  120. 


302  THE   AMORETTI. 


LXXXIV. 

The  world  that  cannot  deeme  of  worthy  things, 
When  I  doe  praise  her,  say  I  doe  but  flatter  : 
So  does  the  cuckow,  when  the  mavis  sings. 
Begin  his  witlesse   note  apace  to  clatter. 
But  they  that  skill  not  of  so  heavenly  matter, 
All  that  they  know  not,  envy  or  admyre  ; 
Bather  than  envy,  let  them  wonder  at  her, 
But  not  to  deeme  of  her  desert  aspyre. 
Deepe,  in  the  closet  of  my  parts   entyre, 
Her  worth  is  written  with  a  golden  quill, 
That  me  with  heavenly  fury  doth  inspire, 
And  my  glad  mouth  with  her  sweet  prayses  fill. 
Which  when  as  Fame  in  her  shril  trump  shall  thunder, 
Let  the  world  chuse  to  envy  or  to  wonder. 

Vide  BEX  ARES,  p.  110. 


THE   AMORETTI.  303 


LXXXV. 

Venemous  tongue,  tipt  with  vile  adders  sting, 
Of  that  self  kynd  with  which  the  furies  fell 
Their  snaky  heads  doe  combe,  from  which  a  spring 
Of  poysoned  words  and  spightfull  speeches  well ; 
Let  all  the  plagues,  and  horrid  paines,  of  hell 
Upon  thee  fall  for  thine  accursed  hyre  ; 
That  with  false  forged  lyes,   which  thou  didst  tell, 
In  my  true  Love  did  stirre  up  coles  of  yre  ; 
The  sparkes  whereof  let  kindle  thine  own  fyre, 
And,  catching  hold  on  thine  own  wicked  hed, 
Consume  thee  quite,  that  didst  with  guile  conspire 
In  my  sweet  peace  such  breaches  to  have  bred  ! 
Shame  be  thy  meed,  and  mischiefe  thy  reward, 
Due  to  thy  selfe,  that  it  for  me  prepard ! 


304  THE   AMORETTI. 


LXXXVI. 

Since  I  did  leave  the  presence  of  my  Love, 
Many  long  weary  dayes  I  have  outworne  ; 
And  many  nights,  that  slowly  seemd  to  move 
Theyr  sad  protract  from  evening  untill  morn. 
For,  when  as  day  the  heaven  doth  adorne, 
I  wish  that  night  the  noyous  day  would  end  : 
And,  when  as  night  hath  us  of  light  forlorne, 
I  wish  that  day  would  shortly  reascend. 
Thus  I  the  time  with  expectation  spend, 
And  faine  my  griefe  with  chaunges  to  heguile, 
That  further  seemes  his  terme  still  to  extend, 
And  maketh  every  minute  seem  a  myle. 

So  sorrowe  still  doth  seem  too  long  to  last ; 

But  ioyous  houres  do  fly  away  too  fast. 


THE    AMORETTI.  305 


LXXXVII. 

Since  I  have  lackt  the  comfort  of  that  light, 
The  which  was  wont  to  lead  my  thoughts  astray  ; 
I  wander  as  in  darknesse  of  the  night, 
Atfrayd  of  every  dangers  least  dismay. 
Xe  ought  I  see,  though  in  the  clearest  day, 
When  others  gaze  upon  theyr  shadowes  vayne, 
But  th'  only  image  of  that  heavenly   ray, 
Whereof  some  glance  doth  in  mine  eie  remayne. 
Of  which  beholding  the  idaea  playne, 
Through  contemplation  of  my  purest  part, 
With  light  thereof  I  doe  my  self  sustayne, 
And  thereon  feed  my  love-aifamisht  hart. 

But,  with  such  brightnesse  whylest  I  fill  my  mind, 
I  starve  my  body,  and  mine  eyes  doe  blynd. 


306  THE    AMORETTI. 


LXXXVIII. 

Lyke  as  the  culver,1  on  the  bared  bough, 

Sits  mourning  for  the  absence  of  her  mate; 

And,  in  her  songs,  sends  many  a  wishful  vow 

For  his  returne  that  seemes  to  linger  late : 

So  I  alone,  now  left  disconsolate, 

Mourne  to  my  selfe  the  absence  of  my  Love  ; 

And,  wandring  here  and  there  all  desolate, 

Seek  with  my  playnts  to  match  th  it  mournful  dove  : 

N"e  ioy  of  ought,  that  under  heaven  doth  hove, 

Can  comfort  me,  but  her  owne  ioyous  sight  : 

Whose  sweet  aspect  both  God  and  man  can  move, 

In  her  unspotted  pleasauns  to  delight. 

Dark  is  my  day,  whyles  her  fayre  light  I  mis, 
And  dead  my  life  that  wants  such  lively  blis. 

Vide  BEMAKKS,  p.  130. 
1  Culver,  dove. 


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